by RW Krpoun
“Couldn’t they move you to something other than Shop?” Shad asked.
“Yeah, although finding a good Shop teacher is tougher than finding an English teacher.”
“Trade schools are the answer,” Fred dusted off his hat and settled it onto his head. “Next year I’m going to go to the diesel engine course they offer at Sam Houston. I’ll end up fixing beer trucks for double what I make now, and can get a job anywhere with heavy rigs if I ever leave Coors.”
“The company going to pay for the school?” Jeff checked the loads in his Bulldogs.
“Yeah, but if I don’t stay five years I have to reimburse them, prorated for the time I did stay. I’m going to stick with them, though, their 401k plan is really good.”
“Retirement is key,” Shad agreed. “Being on the county’s plan has really upped my retirement options.”
“Fascinating as this is, we should get going,” Shad stood and stirred the ashes in the fire pit with the toe of his boot to ensure that there were no lingering coals. “Bloodseep isn’t going to come to us.”
“So, Derek: what new data do we have on Death Lords?” Shad asked as the Black Talons rode towards Bloodseep.
“Lotta little stuff,” the Alienist shrugged. “I’m still trying to get it all into context. Ask me something, that always helps the data sort out.”
“We’ve been told they seem to focus upon the Tek specifically.”
Derek frowned at the horizon. “They do. Not so much the Tek as a people or political entity, but the pyramids. They’ve knocked out several over the years.”
“Aren’t the pyramids the core of the Tek society?’
“Yeah, sort of, but that’s not how the Death Lords are operating. Its like they’re playing chess and the pyramid is the king; knock it out and it’s game over as far as the necromancers are concerned.”
“So the main focus of the Death Lords is to disable the pyramids?”
“Not disable, destroy their ability to function. Once they knock one out, the actual occult/arcane core of the temple, it cannot be restored. The physical structure is immaterial.”
“So you’re saying the Death Lords don’t care about the Tek so long as they don’t have functioning pyramids?” Fred asked.
“Exactly.”
“Huh.” Shad thought about that. “Jeff, what is the Tek side of the equation?”
“Well, the pyramids house what is called either a Black or Blood Flame, a source of great occult power which is used to vitalize those gems they have implanted in their skulls.”
“Big whoop,” Fred shook his head. “We chopped ‘em up when they hit the Expedition.”
“That’s not the only use,” Jeff corrected him. “In fact, its only a minor draw. Those head-gems do allow the Tek to deploy magic without significant training, like that mist they created and all the anti-gun hexes. But the real power is being stored in the pyramids themselves, the actual physical structures. The Tek believe that if they gather enough power they will be able to complete their ancestors’ escape and break through to Earth.”
“What’s the point?” Derek asked. “Physically the Realm and Earth are extremely similar; in fact for all we know they are copies of the same planet. On Earth their magic won’t work and they’re not even Human anymore.”
“Who knows?” Jeff shrugged. “Their motivation is so embedded in their culture that it is hard to extract why they want to get there. Its like trying to understand why muslim fanatics make their women wear sheets.”
“Burkas.” Derek corrected him. “You sound like Shad.”
“Bite me. Anyway, they want to get home the way suicide bombers want to blow up cafes: the specific goal is everything. I don’t think they have any sort of plan beyond the point of ‘and then we get to Earth’.”
“Are they really sacrificing enough people to draw that much power?” Fred asked.
“The sacrifices of sentient beings is done to control the Flame, sort of like controlling the pumping station rather than the actual stuff being pumped.”
“Wait…so the Death Lords, the necromancers, are trying to keep the Tek from getting to our world?” Derek threw up his hands. “That makes no sense.”
“You’re the expert on the Death Lords,” Jeff pointed out. “What are their motivations?’
“Well…they’re more cultists than wizards. Not really religious, more fanatical followers,” the Alienist rubbed his forehead. “They’re coming here to put out the pyramids. And their usual promotion of necromancy on the side.”
“But why are they concerned about what is going on in another sphere? I understand them spreading their creed, but why do they care about the Tek?”
“I don’t know,” Derek said thoughtfully. “But it is clearly important to them.”
“Let’s try this another way,” Fred jabbed a thick finger at the Radio Shack manager. “You said they are fanatical followers. Who are they followers of?”
“Whom do they follow,” Derek corrected absently. “It’s not a person, it’s a place. Maybe a place-all I have is a name: the Spirit Rift or Rift of Spirits, and there are indications that it has other names or titles.”
“That’s weird,” Fred observed. “How can you fanatically follow a rift?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” the Alienist rubbed his lower back. “I’m not really sure of the specifics, really. The Death Lords resemble a mix of a cult and the diehard political fanatics of creeds like Communism in the Third World during the post-colonial wars, stuff like that. There’s tremendous personal commitment and an exemplary willingness to make individual sacrifices for the cause. I just don’t have the details-even three points only gives you the big picture.”
“But apparently Cecil does have the details,” Jeff said slowly. “He’s the expert, after all. So we have a magic-user who knows more about the Death Lords than anyone else in this sphere who brings us here, puts very simple wards on us, and sic’s the Death Lords upon us, which could cause us to be killed or sent home.”
“Don’t forget the Death Lords are from another sphere,” Derek pointed out.
“Yeah…and we have the Tek, whose pyramids piss off the Death Lords. Not the people, not their culture, but only the pyramids. And Cecil brings us into this sphere within line of sight of a Tek pyramid.”
“It is fitting together,” Fred conceded. “But what does it all mean?”
“The better question is why the person who got the third boost in our knowledge skills is not saying a word?” Derek pointed at the Shootist. “Shad, what have you got?’
“Nothing good,” Shad admitted quietly.
“So what do you know? You should have gotten your new data files shaken into order by now,” Jeff said. “What did two more points buy?”
“Part of an answer,” the Shootist sighed. “I told you that there was another sphere, or world, created by another breakout attempt?”
“Yeah, the Isle. Mostly Japanese style,” Derek noted with a gleam in his eye. “The home of the Death Lords.”
“The home of the Rift of Dreams, too. The Rift is a permanent connection between the Isle and another sphere. Even with three points I’ve got almost nothing about the other sphere, just that this sphere was corrupted or decayed or died long ago. Its usually called the Dark Lands or something similar.”
“And that’s what the Death Lords are loyal to?” Jeff frowned. “That sounds stupid.”
“I can’t explain that part,” Shad spread his hands. “But I have an idea of what Cecil might be up to in this entire endeavor,” he rubbed the scar at the left side of his neck. “You know that the Death Lords can move between spheres in small groups, strictly one-way trips, right? They can’t come to our world, but otherwise its non-road travel.”
“Yeah, we know that,” Jeff nodded.
“Cecil trapped us into banishing ourselves to the Realm. But as you’ve noted he gave us a bullshit mission, secured us with wards that are straightforward and easy to dispel, and sent
us headlong into the arms of the very guys whose deaths would release us.”
“Yeah, it makes no sense,” Fred nodded.
“Now it does make sense: he doesn’t care about us, or what we do here. Or if we live or die. All he needed was for four people from our world who have already been to the Prison to banish themselves to the Realm. That’s all. There’s a whole lot more to the mechanics than I’m saying, and it may be that our burning off some of our wards in the Prison and raiding Death Valley while we were there may have made us especially prime candidates for this job, but whatever the details Cecil’s plan only required the banishment, not the people banishing themselves.”
“Why did he want us banished? Or someone, rather?” Jeff asked.
“Because it created a situation, an exploitable arcane event that he could use. I’m real hazy on the specifics because of my class, but basically our banishment in close proximity to an active pyramid created something that he can use, an important item for an effort whose end result would allow someone to travel using the same occult method as the Death Lords.”
“Which he knows because he’s an expert on the Death Lords,” Derek nodded. “I guess he’s planning on going to Earth.”
“No, he can’t. The Death Lords’ method won’t get you there; remember, there are rules to all this, rules engraved in stone. The most he can do is go to another sphere.”
“OK, so he needed us to banish ourselves, he needed to bring us to within X miles of a pyramid,” Jeff ticked off points on his fingers. “Why did he bother equipping us better than the Council did when we came into the Prison? Why equip us at all? And why bother with the bogus mission?”
“Because there are rules, cosmic rules to all this,” Shad explained. “I don’t begin to understand all of them, but the format of the role-playing model imposed by the beliefs in our world means we have to be equipped equal to our level. Just as we kept some experience levels from the Prison, so we got some of the value of the gear we left there. Cecil had nothing to do with it, and couldn’t prevent it if he wanted. As to why he handed us the bogus mission, I can’t say.”
“Because he didn’t want us sitting around wondering who did this to us,” Fred pointed out. “He knows what we accomplished in the Prison, and he might not know about all the help we had. He gave us a wild goose to chase to keep us from coming after him.”
“If he hadn’t given us a mission we wouldn’t know who he was,” Derek objected.
“Actually, we would have,” Shad corrected the Alienist. “Back to the RPG format: he summoned us, he has to make contact with us. If he hadn’t we would have learned his name through means I’m not clear upon. More cosmic rule stuff enforcing the RPG campaign template.”
“So he meets us, or rather he sends a flunky, and sets us up in direct opposition to the Death Lords without us knowing it. Tips off the Death Lords, and ties our wards to the deaths of five necromancers. Either we get killed, or we send ourselves back home.”
“That sounds about right,” Shad nodded.
“So why not humor him?” Jeff asked. “Why not just turn around, drop three more Death Lords, and head home? He’s no threat to our world; in fact, he’s no threat to anyone, really. All he wants to do is go to another sphere.”
The Talons pondered that point as they rode along.
“The Death Lords are still looking for us,” Derek observed. “We know because of the daily XP bonus. All we have to do is set up in a remote spot and wait. Change up locations after each one we zap.”
“I think we ought to take the sumbitch out,” Fred growled.
“He’s probably already gone,” Jeff pointed out.
“No, if he’s using the Death Lord method to move between spheres he can only do it at certain times of the year,” Derek objected. “All fall within the cooler seasons, at least in this year.”
“Our banishment was just one part of the recipe,” Shad agreed.
“So we have time to clip him before he leaves,” the Scout persisted.
“Look, I understand your issue with the man,” Jeff said carefully. “But maybe this isn’t all that big of a deal.”
“Why does he want to go to another sphere?” Derek wondered. “Wait-he’s an expert on the Death Lords-maybe he wants to go to the Isle. Or the dead sphere.”
“He can’t go to the dead sphere directly,” Shad shook his head. “Because of the Rift no other method works. But he could go to the Isle and use the Rift. Maybe. Assuming that’s where he wants to go.”
“Well, since he knows about what we did in the Prison he knows that the level system there is ended, and therefore his powers are nil,” Derek pointed out. “That leaves the Isle. I bet the level system is still intact there.”
“But he would be an outlander there,” Jeff objected. “Behind the curve, same as us.”
“OK, look, we don’t know what his plan is,” Shad cut off the speculation. “He knows a lot more about the spheres than I do, that’s for certain. We do know why we’re here, which is a start.”
“Only took us, what, seventy-five days to figure it out?” Jeff chuckled.
“Seventy-six or so,” Shad nodded. “I think that while we are re-equipping in Bloodseep we should do a bit more digging into Cecil, and with some luck get an inkling of what his plan might be. I wonder if there is anyone we could ask for information?”
“Well, a little research should let me figure out the dates for his sphere-jump. Once I have the dates, I’ll have a general location, say the size of Kansas,” Derek mused.
“Great, you’ll narrow it down to a single state?” Fred sighed.
“If he gets it that far, the next step would be to see if there are any Tek pyramids which have been knocked out by Death Lords in that area,” Jeff snapped his fingers.
“What makes you say that?” Shad asked.
“Skill-based knowledge. The structure would still contain considerable residual power. Stands to reason Cecil would use it.”
“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “The Death Lords draw from the Rift to move to other spheres, which is why they can’t go home. Lacking a Rift, Cecil needs a power source.”
Shad drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. “Yeah, that works with what I know.”
“Could he draw on the Rift to come back?” Fred asked.
“No way,” Derek shook his head. “Only the true believers can draw on the Rift. And the Death Lords can’t use the pyramids to go home because they lack the priming device to start the occult chain-reaction.”
“The priming device being the thing Cecil created by our self-banishment,” Shad agreed. “That’s why the kid wasn’t affected by the time difference between Earth and here: he couldn’t bring her all the way to the Realm. Odds are if we had waited a couple hours she would have come back on her own.”
“You’re saying he bluffed us?” Jeff was appalled.
“I’m working off a general outline and the wrong class background, but yeah, it looks that way.”
“OK, I’m inclined to take this asshole out,” Jeff shook his head. “He could have put one ward on us, or have Amid hand over the seals to get home. Instead we’re fighting for our lives and living hard for absolutely nothing.”
“We need to find out what his agenda is,” Derek urged. “He’s obviously been working on this project for a long time. This isn’t just a vacation for him. He could have gotten us a letter “Come to the Realm for a lovely weekend. You discharge your wards by sleeping with whores or drinking a gallon of beer. Instead it’s The Wild Bunch meets…what movie would it be?”
“You don’t get a lot of occult and Western mixes,” Jeff said thoughtfully. “I can’t think of any, in fact.”
“Damn it,” the Alienist threw up his hands. “Anyway, you know where I was going with it. Cecil is not a nice man, and nobody but us know he’s got a plan going. We have a responsibility to check out what he is doing before we head home.”
“We already sort of saved the world, possibly,” Jeff o
bjected, then sighed. “That sounded better in my head.”
“OK, we find out what Cecil’s game is and if it’s even possible to interfere with said plan,” Shad nodded. “Then we decide what our next move will be.”
“I have a growing suspicion that we are going to be going after Cecil,” Jeff muttered. “We had a clear shot in the Prison, but only Sam had any brains.”
“I was the last to fall,” Fred observed smugly.
“A tremendous distinction: you lived about ten seconds longer,” Jeff rolled his eyes.
“Ten seconds is ten seconds.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Black Talons arrived in Bloodseep on the eightieth day of their sojourn in the Realm (as calculated by Shad) a road-worn, hard-eyed group who warranted a few extra questions from the guards at the main entrance. The guards felt uneasy about the four unwashed men in worn clothing riding lean horses and hung about with lovingly cleaned weapons, but in the end they granted admittance.
“Ah, The Dancing Drover,” Derek sighed as they turned their animals over to the stable boy. “I’ve been dreaming about this place.”
“Hookers and beer,” Jeff agreed. “If we ever have a motto that should be it.”
“Derek, pay for individual rooms,” Shad instructed the Alienist. “At least for tonight and tomorrow night. We’ll sort out the details after two days of debauchery.”
“Good idea,” Fred nodded.
“I’ve never seen a tattoo in color before,” the whore, whose name Shad thought began with an ‘S’, traced the ink-work on his right shoulder blade, pausing in the back rub she had been giving the Shootist. “What do these markings mean?”
“They’re words in another language. They spell out ‘Operation Phantom Fury’ over the colored part. Underneath reads ‘was a bitch’.” Shad replied without lifting his face from the pillow.
“What is a Phantom Fury?’
“It was the name given to a battle in a place called Fallujah, which is why the colored part shows a building on fire. All my comrades have the same tattoo; we got the tattoos in a place called Dubai.”
