The Wizard from Tian (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 3)

by S. J. Ryan

  It shouldn't be hard, he thought. They were literally underneath a pair of hydrogen bombs.

  He thought perhaps it was better this way. He could ride the ship to Britan before destroying it, then parachute to safety over land. It wouldn't resolve what had happened to Matt Four or Prin or Andra, or what would happen to the Britanians when the Romans came, but he could take out Athena by destroying Nemesis. And then he would be back with Carrot, and maybe she had found the Pandora of Britan, and maybe that would count as leverage to make the Pandora of Rome call off the Roman invasion.

  He noticed that it was quieter still. The wind had ceased to whistle and its gusting that had threatened to suck him out of the hold had lessened considerably. He looked down at the clouds and saw that they were hardly moving relative to the ship.

  “We've stopped,” he said. “Ivan, what's going on?”

  “I don't know,” Ivan replied. “Matt, men are – “

  The sentence was finished by a bullet that struck the bulkhead near Matt's face. Matt glanced into the hold and saw three crew members led by an officer, all four armed with handguns. They were trotting toward him, firing at the same time.

  Instinctively, Matt swung around the edge of the cargo door frame, hanging suspended over the drop to the sea. His feet dangled until he secured them onto the narrow platform that rimmed the base of the gondola. Hand over hand on the rail, he sidestepped along the platform. He came to a metal ladder bolted to the side of the structure. He climbed.

  He heard a loud clang from above, then another. “What's that?”

  “I do not know. It seems to be coming from the hangar.”

  “This ship has a hangar? What's in the hangar?”

  He heard the roar of an engine. It wasn't as loud as those of the Nemesis and was higher-pitched than those of the Good Witch. The source of the noise passed the overhanging envelope and was revealed as a small airship.

  So small in fact that one should properly call it an airboat. It resembled a miniature version of the Good Witch. The enclosed gondola cabin had the floor space of a rowboat with two seats in front, a small hold in the rear. Behind the cabin was an engine with propeller spinning furiously. Gazing from below and behind, Matt wasn't able get a look at the riders. It didn't matter. He knew one of them had to be Athena.

  Once clear of the moribund Nemesis, the airboat curved east. Matt watched the vehicle become a tiny dot and merge into the clouds. He became aware then that he was very cold and wet, and was still hanging onto a ladder on the skin of an airship hundreds of meters over the middle of a vast, seething sea.

  “We've got to get back inside. Find a way to sabotage the ship. Find a way to escape. Got to watch out for Savora. Got to get back to Britan and stop Athena.”

  “There is an access hatch into the number two envelope service gallery directly above.”

  Matt resumed climbing.

  11.

  The community of Salsbury was located at the western entry to the Dark Forest. As such, it was patronized by travelers along the Oksiden Road, enjoying a thriving industry of taverns and inns. When news came that the Romans were marching west through the forest, however, the town quickly evacuated. The legions, deprived of opportunity to rape, nonetheless pillaged, stealing every cask of beer and wine they could find before setting homes and businesses afire.

  Valarion, having nothing better to do, watched from a distance. The thought of putting a stop to the plunder and vandalism did not occur to him. The men needed their amusement. He himself found the local wine too weak.

  After razing the village, the Romans set camp along the Oksiden Road, about ten kilometers east of Fish Lake. There they waited, for the Pandora of Rome said they must wait. Nothing of any report happened until early evening.

  The messenger entered the field headquarters tent, saluted the general and bowed to the Emperor. Though Valarion had been conferring with Bivera over the unfolding campaign through West Britan, he immediately broke the Imperial Spy Service seal on the pouch and scanned the message.

  “My Lord,” Bivera said. “What is it?”

  Valarion met the gaze of his second-in-command, and thought again of the prophecy of the ancient prognosticator. You shall not die with your second at your side. And yet – he glanced at his senior officers, and knew he would lose a measure of respect if he showed any trepidation in confronting this particular challenge alone.

  “It seems I've been sent a 'gift,'” Valarion replied. “Stay here and tend to the map.” With a glance to the curtains at the rear of the tent, he added, not caring if it heard: “And to the infernal machine.”

  With bodyguards in tow, Valarion followed the messenger westward through the encampment. It was early evening and cooking fires littered the plain, seemingly more numerous than the stars that powdered the vault over the forests of West Britan. Soldiers, unaware of the personages passing by, engaged in gambling and ribald joking. Valarion smiled grimly. At least morale remained high. But how long would that last?

  Lanterns on poles gleamed amid trees. The path opened into a clearing where soldiers surrounded a man dressed in peasant garb, who wore a long white beard and sat on a log and rested a walking staff across his knees. The old man spared the Emperor of the Roman Empire a glance, then morosely stared into the gloom. Valarion brushed away the soldiers, who took position at the edge of the clearing, in sight but out of earshot.

  Valarion gestured at the staff and blurted, “When are you going to point that at me?”

  “What would be the use?” Archimedes said. “To prove that a young man's reactions are faster than an old man's? That a young man's strength is greater than an old man's?”

  Valarion took a second to regain composure. “I question what to do with you.”

  “I think we both know that torture won't work.” Archimedes made a twisted smile. “How many lashes do you think this old body will take, before its heart gives out?”

  Valarion felt a chill deeper than the cool evening could invoke. Archimedes did look frail. Had the former chief scientist's body been so thin for years, concealed by the layered robes of Roman fashion until now? When had his tutor's black and gray beard become entirely white? And when had the fire in the eyes become embers? This was Archimedes, yet not the same.

  Valarion tried to steel himself from pity. “Come on, old man. At least admit I've won.”

  “The way the young always win against the old. By forfeit.”

  Valarion straddled the opposite end of the log. He uncorked his flask and swigged deep. “You – ” He made a sweeping gesture at their surroundings. “You're responsible for all of this!”

  Archimedes slowly turned his head. “I don't recall planting these trees.”

  “Joking aside. Did you know I once respected you?”

  “I thought you said, joking aside.”

  “When I was young, I was small and crippled and my family of military heroes shunned me. They knew I could not survive the rigors of a campaign, I could never achieve honor in battle, I could never bring pride to the family. I was an embarrassment to them. How do you think that made me feel?”

  “Terrible, I suppose. And what does – ”

  “All their strutting and prattling about glory in battle – a glory that would forever exclude me! And then you come as my tutor, muttering softly that wars are petty shoving games, obstacles in the path of human progress. All that is of true value to society, you said, is the advancement of science.”

  “I may have mentioned something about justice and compassion too, but go on.”

  “You remember the day, I must have been no more than twelve, when you took me on a tour to the garment factory? I saw the looms chugging and they reminded me of an army on the march. But then I thought, the looms produce goods of value, while the army produces only destruction. It was then I realized that my family were not heroes, they were parasites upon humanity. I was happy that I was small and lame, because I had been spared the fate of being pressed to become l
ike them. Instead, I could become a scientist like you.”

  “You were a promising student, but it seems Inoldia lured you away.”

  “Inoldia had her charms, yet only as distraction. I was still true to your vision. I decided I wanted to be a scholar, a keeper of scientific knowledge. You recall how often you expressed the wish that Rome had a public library like the one at Kresidala? For a time, that was my goal in life – to become Chief Librarian of the Library of Rome! Can you imagine!”

  “It is hard to do so now, especially after you burned all my books.”

  “Then one day a new tutor came, and I asked what happened to Archimedes. He said you'd gone off with General Hadron to wage a campaign in Espin.”

  “It was the rainy season, the trenches were filthy. Hadron lost a quarter of his men to sickness.“

  “Your advice spared his legion, which went on to rape and pillage half of Espin. You saved Hadron's military career, and set him on the path to emperorship. And as for me – you destroyed me.”

  “Is that what you're angry about? That I made Hadron a hero and forgot about you?”

  “I couldn't have cared less if you had made him god-king of all the stars in the sky. As for me, I was used to being alone. What destroyed me was your hypocrisy. After all your sermons on science, after all your dismissal of military 'virtues,' you yourself go off to war at the first offer!”

  Archimedes looked away. “If it matters, my conscience was troubled even then.”

  “Don't tell me what a humanitarian you are! When you were my tutor, you lived by yourself in a drafty garret atop a toppling old tenement. When you returned from Hadron's campaigns, you were given by imperial decree a three-story townhouse with servants.”

  “No, I wasn't a humanitarian.”

  “So when I do this – “ Valarion made a sweeping gesture again “– I don't mean the trees. I mean me as Emperor by any trick available. I mean the legions of thugs around us, stealing a country to enserf its people. I mean understanding that Power is above Truth.” Valarion arose and bowed elaborately. “Thank you, Tutor! Your lesson in hypocrisy has been well learned and most appreciated!”

  Archimedes blinked. He held out his staff.

  “You'll be wanting this.”

  “For what?”

  “For protection.“

  “I don't need your toys to protect me! I have legions under my command!”

  “You mean, under its command.”

  Valarion stepped back, his heart pounding. “How – do you know about – ?”

  “I survived in Rome by knowing that power and purple do not always coincide. And I've heard enough about that . . . thing . . . to know what is the case here. You may have the crown and seal, but it has the reins and whip.”

  Valarion scowled, but said nothing.

  Archimedes locked eyes and continued: “You can't out-clever it. You can only out-surprise it.” He extended his staff again. “You might be able to get in a shot. Here, I'll show you how to operate – “

  Valarion snatched the staff – and flung it away. To the guards, he snapped, “Keep him detained. Don't pamper him but see to his needs. I want him alive for now.”

  The fool, he thought as he hurried back to the headquarters compound. The damn old fool!

  But he no longer had much room in his thoughts for anger at Archimedes. Instead, he was angry at himself. Even the old man knew. And he was right! Perhaps I should have taken the staff . . . Valarion opened his flask and took a deep swig.

  Valarion could tell the headquarters compound was astir by the doubling of the temple guard. They allowed him to pass through the security cordon, but a brown-robed, hooded figure stared at his bodyguards until he nodded for them at remain at the perimeter.

  Something has to be done, Valarion thought, rankling at the subservience of veteran legionnaires to the ornamental temple guard. He had always known the Sisters had to be dispensed with before they dispensed with him. If he couldn't even enter his own headquarters without permission, perhaps the time for action was overdue.

  He entered alone into the headquarters tent and found that Bivera and his officers were gone. The curtain that had concealed the presence of the Box had been drawn aside. Perched upon its pedestal, the Box blinked its lights complacently. How simple it would be, Valarion thought. Just rush over, knock it down. Strike it with a sword, pound it with a rock . . . Perhaps I should have taken the staff.

  But then he realized it was not so simple. For in the tent was another person, a woman who looked just like Inoldia. But 'Inoldia' – or at least the person who portrayed her – was still up north, and the Triumph, sent to pick her up, had yet to return.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She was dressed under a gray longcoat in strange gray clothing – like a peasant's shirt and pants only far better tailored – but Valarion knew without the hint that this wasn't Inoldia, for he could never forget the rotted carcass dumped into the sea. Nor was it the impersonator who had lately matched Inoldia in strength and ruthlessness while exceeding her in intellect and emotional control. That Inoldia had made an effort not to seem intimidating. This one coldly appraised him, like a buyer at a slave market.

  “This is him, I assume,” she said flatly.

  “He is Mardu Valarion,” the Box replied. “Emperor of the Roman Empire of Delta Pavonis Three.”

  “I know where we are.” While he stood stiff, the woman walked around him, her eyes spending an inordinate time scrutinizing his scalp. “Yes, a very close match.”

  “I had to improvise,” the Box replied. “There was significant damage incurred during the cloning process. Cloning is not in my original set of skills. The Inoldias were fertilized ova, not clones. Cloning is the prerogative of – “

  “I know who was given which skills. I made the assignments myself.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Valarion nearly staggered. The Box called her Mother?

  The woman turned toward Valarion. Her stoic expression broke into a warm smile, as if she'd just noticed that he was a human being. “Emperor Valarion, I am the Lady Athena Spencer. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  Valarion returned the bow and, not knowing what else to say, said, “Yes, and likewise.”

  “I know of you, of course. As for myself, I am an associate of the Sisters of Wisdom. You may consider me as a consultant in your efforts here.”

  Consultant! After being called Mother by the Mother! “Yes.”

  Athena gestured to the map spread on the table. “Our mutual associate was briefing me on the tactical situation, but I would appreciate your perspective.”

  “Oh . . . yes, certainly.” Best to play along, best to act compliant – for now. They hovered over the map, Athena watching pensively as Valarion indicated the troop markers. “Well,” he said, “here is our position in West Britan, along what the locals call the 'Oksiden Road.' I have forty thousand men under my command.” He pointed to the right. “This is the main force of the rebellion, the Army of the Eastern Leaf. My spies – and our 'associate' – estimate its strength at twenty thousand.”

  “You have a two-to-one numerical advantage. Victory should be straightforward.”

  “It is not so simple when it comes to motivation. The rebels fight for freedom and homeland. Whereas, Roman soldiers . . . .”

  “Do they not value the honor of serving to the glory of the Empire?”

  He lowered his voice, having judged that here was a person who knew the ways of power. “If the enemy mindlessly charges at us, as barbarian hordes have always done in the past, then yes, we shall easily defeat them with paltry losses. If, however, they are well-trained and disciplined, then casualties could mount into the intolerable. Our soldiers then will think of war less as honor and glory and more as low pay and bad-tempered sergeants. Unfortunately, according to spy reports as of this past summer, we have reason to believe that the enemy has become well trained under superior leadership. I believe we can win, and with minimal
losses – but only if we proceed with caution.”

  “Time is short,” Athena replied. “We must obtain the objective as soon as possible.”

  It was as if she hadn't heard. Valarion knew then, simply by her avoidance of his gaze, that she would sacrifice the legions if it meant obtaining the Britanian Box.

  He tried not to sound like he was protesting: “Why are we discussing battle? I had been assured of a plan to neutralize the armies of Britan without battle.“

  “There was such a plan,” Athena replied, sounding defensive. “A difficulty arose.”

  “A difficulty?”

  “It is of no further concern. The individual who interfered is dead.”

  The Wizard? Valarion wondered. “Are you certain?”

  “Dead – while trying to escape. So it was reported to me. Fallen from the sky, drowned at sea.”

  Valarion thought of how Inoldia had 'survived' as much.

  Scowling, Athena jabbed at the cluster of thousand-men markers to the far west. “These, I take it, are the Western Leaf,” she said. “You've indicated a force of five thousand. That is not insignificant, but I see no defensive positions in their direction.”

  “They're irrelevant to our current tactical situation. We have infiltrated an agent as their leader.”

  “I am aware of that, but the tactical situation is not my concern.”

  Your concern is the Box, Valarion thought. All for the Box.

  Athena tapped the map. “This place here, Ravencall. I see that most of the Western Leaf is gathered there already, but I want your agent to issue an order to have every soldier in the Western Leaf gather there, and as tightly as possible.”

  Valarion searched for an appropriate title of address. “My Lady, if you're thinking of encirclement, they'll retreat as soon as their scouts report our advance. I know the Britanian mind, the soldiers think for themselves and won't sit still for an onslaught regardless of what their leader commands.”

  “You needn't be concerned. I will encircle the Western Leaf and destroy it myself.”