Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra

by Stephen Lawhead

  She was still standing there when the boat entered the Tanais marina. It was a semicircular jetty extending into a cove which had been carved out alongside the river. At least thirty other boats, large and small, were docked, and several more were at that moment entering the cove with them. Both the wide, curving dock and the waterfront area beyond were crowded with people milling about.

  Treet saw the plan at once: pull in with three or four other boats—each, he noticed, with four passengers visible on deck— and lose yourself in the crowd. Anyone following or watching would be pressed in the extreme to catch their trail. Obviously some careful thought and planning had gone into this operation. Yes, the stakes were high—maybe higher than he realized.

  The boat slid into an empty berth alongside another craft of the same design. A third boat nosed in beside them on the other side, and twelve passengers disembarked at once to meld with the idle confusion on the dock. Single-file, they threaded their way through the ambling crowds on the waterfront. At the far side of the wharf they paused and allowed a group of four to move ahead of them and disappear down a shadowed walkway leading to deep Hage.

  When the first group had gone, they moved on again, and after a few level changes, the entering and leaving of many dwelling blocks, and a long wait in a dark tunnel while one of their guides went ahead to make sure the way was clear, they arrived at a generous plaza bordered on one side by a small lake with a fountain bubbling up in its center. Gently-sloped green lawns ringed the lake on every side, and around it grew lollipop trees which cast nets of white-flowered vine into the water.

  Mirrored in the lake was an imposing structure made up of several independent sections clustered around a tall central tower and joined together at the upper levels with airborne walkways. The plaza and lakeside, like the dock and waterfront, swarmed with people wandering in groups of three or four. The guides struck off along a path that wound around the lake, eventually arriving at the plaza to lose themselves once more in the human maze.

  Once across the square they wasted no time in entering the central tower, where they ran through an enormous hall over a highly polished floor to dive into a lift. The four crammed into the lift—clearly designed for one or two passengers—and up they went.

  Treet lost count of the levels, but guessed that when the lift slowed, they were somewhere near the top. The barrier field withdrew, and Treet stepped out into a spare but spacious kraam. Standing in the center of the room were two figures, one of which he recognized.

  “Well, well, Pizzle! Long time no see.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “Treet? Orion Treet, is that you?” Pizzle bleated uncertainly.

  At first Treet thought Pizzle had suffered brain damage, judging by the way he squirmed and squinted, but then realized the bookworm was not wearing Z. Z. Papoon’s glasses. Treet stepped forward. “Yours truly, at your service. You okay?”

  “I lost my glasses,” said Pizzle, smiling broadly. “But it’s not so bad. I’m getting used to it.”

  “So I see.” Treet returned the smile and added a handshake and a slap on the back for good measure. He never in a trillion years would have dreamed he’d be so glad to see that homely, gnome-faced grin. He stood beaming and patting Pizzle’s back as if he’d contracted a mild case of idiocy, and then noticed the man standing behind Pizzle. “Who’s your friend?”

  The man came forward, lips pursed, hands folded with fingers interlocked. He nodded to the two guides, who climbed back into the lift and vanished. “I am Tanais Director Tvrdy,” announced the man. “We have been waiting for you.”

  Pizzle saw the look of cool appraisal Treet gave the Director and piped up, “You can trust him, Treet. He saved me. They were giving me psilobe—a kind of mind drug—and he got me off it. He wants to help us. Honest.”

  Treet glanced back at Calin, who still lingered near the lift. She looked like a small, defenseless animal that had been cornered by a much larger animal and now had given up, resigning itself to more powerful jaws. He decided to dismiss the polite formalities and get directly to the point. “They said you’d tell me about my friends. Here’s Pizzle. Where are the other two?”

  “The woman, Talazac, is on her way here now. I expect her to arrive with the hour. Crocker has been hurt and cannot yet travel. He has been removed to a place of safety. You can go to him if you like, but I would advise against it. You might be caught.”

  Treet appreciated the straight answer. He relaxed. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  Tvrdy appeared to consider the question carefully, looking at each one of them in turn. Finally he said, “I do not know. Much depends on your willingness to help us.”

  “Help you do what?”

  “Help us save Empyrion,” he said simply.

  Jamrog and Hladik reclined together over a tiny round table in Jamrog’s kraam, sipping the fiery souile from small round ceramic cups gripped between thumb and forefinger. Jamrog’s Hagemate, a supple young woman in a filmy Hagerobe of radiant saffron, knelt between them with a ceramic jar over a warming flame, pouring more hot souile whenever their cups became empty.

  Hladik let his eyes wander over the luxurious interior, coveting all he saw: vibrant Bolbe hangings and floorcoverings of intricate design, fine antique artifacts from Empyrion’s Second Age, sleek furnishings of rare wood, exquisite Chryse metal carvings— two of them erotic pieces executed nearly lifesize. His envious gaze came to rest on the comely form of the young woman kneeling beside him. He smiled, his lips a straight line bending at the corners. “You live well, Jamrog. I commend you also on your good taste in companions.”

  Jamrog lifted a caressing hand to his Hagemate’s flawless cheek. “If you find her to your liking, Hladik, take her,” he said absently. The woman lowered her eyes.

  “Be careful. I might accept your offer.” Hladik made his tone light, but glanced greedily at the woman’s curves beneath the transparent Hagerobe.

  Jamrog let his hand fall away. His angular face hardened in a fierce smile. “I would be insulted if you refused, Hageman. Take her—I give her to you.”

  Hladik placed a hand on her folded knee, stroked it. “You are in a very generous mood today, Jamrog. Tell me, would this have anything to do with—” He halted. A peeping tone sounded from his clothing. He touched his shoulder and bent his head to one side. “Yes?”

  “Fertig,” came the answer. “Security protocol has been violated. I require instructions.”

  “Where?”

  “Horizon level. Archives checkpoint.”

  “Do nothing. I am coming down.” Hladik jumped up, swaying slightly as the souile rose to his head. “You will excuse me, Hageman.”

  “I am coming with you,” said Jamrog.

  “Until more details are known—”

  Jamrog rose abruptly. “You waste time.” He strode toward the door. Hladik cast one last glance back at the lovely woman still seated beside the low table, hands resting on her knees, then followed Jamrog out.

  They rode Hladik’s em through the secret connecting tube between Saecaraz and Nilokerus Hages. The tube had been installed in the early days of Saecaraz supremacy and was now forgotten, except by the few authorized to use it. Within minutes, thanks to the speed of Hladik’s vehicle, the two Directors were standing in Hladik’s private council chamber within the security section of Nilokerus Hage.

  A very pale Subdirector stood before them. “The situation has worsened,” he explained. “We have had two more reports.”

  “What is the damage?” asked Hladik. Jamrog stood to one side with arms crossed and head lowered, frowning.

  Fertig gulped air and saw that he could not cushion the blow, so rushed ahead. “The Fieri woman has disappeared. Bela informs us that his troupe attended Service in Chryse Hage, and she was not with them when they came out.”

  “The fools! They should have been watching her more closely. I will have them all in for reorientation!”

  Jamrog’s eyes narrowed. “The othe
r report?”

  “Treet and the magician guide have not returned to the kraam. We have discovered that Rohee granted them permission to visit the Archives. They were admitted sixth watch yesterday and did not emerge until first watch this morning.” He took a deep breath and continued. “There was a Saecaraz priest with them, but he has not been identified. Second-watch guards were found dead at their station.”

  “What of the first watch?”

  “When they did not check in, a messenger was sent to the checkpoint. That was when the bodies were discovered. The first-watch guards have not been found.”

  “This is Tvrdy’s doing!” howled Hladik. “I know it. He has stolen the spies right from under our noses.”

  “Aided by your incompetence,” fumed Jamrog. Hladik puffed up in protest, but Jamrog’s eyes flared in deadly warning. “Yes, it’s your fault,” he said icily. “I’m holding you responsible. You should have doubled the security on the others when the Jamuna spy disappeared.”

  “How could I have known that—”

  “That is your trouble, Director. You have consistently underestimated Tvrdy’s cunning and resources. He should have been dealt with.”

  “Under whose authority? Yours, Jamrog? Need I remind you that you are not Supreme Director yet? We cannot move openly against another Hage Leader.”

  “Rohee has issued his own death demand with this. He’s mad—letting a Fieri into the Archives! I should never have left him alone with the spy.”

  “We can get them back,” Hladik offered. “If we strike quickly, our Invisibles can recapture them.”

  “No, it has gone too far. The spies must be killed. They should have been killed upon capture. If they were to make contact with the Dhogs, it would strengthen the resistance. How could this happen now—when we are so close to ridding ourselves of them forever!”

  “We’ve made mistakes,” said Hladik, “but nothing is lost. We will kill the spies and put an end to this. We will also deal Tvrdy a blow from which he’ll never recover. That should warn anyone else who might be thinking of joining him.”

  “All right, do it. Use Mors Ultima and strike at once. I will take care of Rohee personally. He will die quietly in his bed this evening. By tomorrow morning my power will be consolidated and,” he paused, a rapacious leer spreading over his features, “by tomorrow evening the Threl will have a new leader and Empyrion a new Supreme Director.”

  Fertig stood mute with terror, wishing he had not heard this conversation. It would be his death, he knew, if their plan did not succeed, or even if it did. Already he could feel the cold flame of poison licking his limbs, seeping through his blood. I have heard too much, he thought. When this is over, they will not let me live.

  Hladik turned on him. “Well, what are you waiting for? Assemble the Invisibles. I will meet with the squad leader Mrukk in the ready room in four minutes to plan operational strategy.”

  “By your command, Hage Leader.” Fertig vanished gratefully, leaving the two to their schemes. He entered the security command post and placed the watch commanders on alert, then summoned the Mors Ultima squad of Invisibles. His tasks completed for the moment, he returned to his monitor station to await further orders.

  I must find some protection, he thought desperately. There must be a way—there must be a way. He sat rigid in his chair, staring at the eternally revolving monitor screens. All at once he leapt to his feet. Yes! There was a way—perhaps the only way to save himself. But he’d have to act fast. He spun in his chair and tapped out a coded message on a blank disk with a light stylus.

  He leaped to his feet and took the disk to dispatch. It would be dangerous sending the message from here; it could be traced. But there was no time to take it elsewhere, and the secure lines connecting the Directors’ kraams were the quickest. Fertig handed the disk to the dispatcher and said, “Tanais Director. First priority. Destroy upon transmission.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “Help save Empyrion?” Treet cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “And just how would we do that?”

  Tvrdy’s answer surprised him. “Do you know of the Fieri?”

  “I am familiar with the word.”

  “For most of our people, the Fieri, if they are remembered at all, live only in children’s stories of long ago. But there are those among us who believe they still exist.”

  “You, for example?”

  “And certain others.”

  “This is interesting, but I really don’t see a problem of survival here.”

  Tvrdy nodded and led them to cushions where they all sat down together. Calin did not join them, but stayed where she was—crouched next to the wall beneath a large, shapeless hanging. “Your coming has released an enormous amount of astral energy into our world. That energy must be dissipated or used.”

  “We’ve polarized their psychic plane,” explained Pizzle. “We’ve upset the astral balance around here prodigiously.”

  Treet looked at him. “That’s not all that’s been upset apparently.” He turned back to Tvrdy. “Exactly what are you trying to tell me?”

  “Your presence among us is a catalyst for action. The energy you bring with you is strong—too strong to be resisted. It will be used; one way or another it will be used.”

  “Go on, what are you getting at?”

  “For six hundred years the Saecaraz have ruled Empyrion— Subdirector succeeding Director.”

  “The line of succession runs through Hage Saecaraz. The Saecaraz Director always gets to be Supreme Director, is that it?”

  “Precisely. Even though he is but a Subdirector, Jamrog sits with the Threl; his stent is equal to that of a Director. But when he becomes a Director—”

  “Trouble with a capital T,” put in Pizzle.

  Tvrdy continued his recitation, “Sirin Rohee is old. Jamrog will not hesitate to remove him when he has outlived his usefulness. At present, the Threl is divided on what to do with you. Jamrog would use you as an excuse to seize power. My friends want to see Jamrog deposed and leadership of the Threl returned to the Directors.”

  “Ah, politics I understand,” remarked Treet.

  “Jamrog already suspects treason among certain members of the Threl. Should he come to power, there will be a Purge and Empyrion will be cast into chaos. Thousands—tens of thousands will die needlessly. Kyan will run red with the blood of our Hagemen, and we are powerless to prevent it.”

  “That sounds serious enough, but what’s it got to do with this Fieri business?”

  “They think we are Fieri!” Pizzle explained. “That seems to carry a lot of weight around here.”

  “I still don’t see what everyone’s so excited about,” said Treet.

  Tvrdy continued. “Fieri are stronger than we are, their numbers greater, their magic far more powerful.”

  Treet shook his head, “Fine, but we’re not Fieri.”

  “I know that now. You are Travelers.”

  “How does that help you?”

  “You could go to the Fieri, explain what is happening here, and seek their aid. With the Fieri’s help, we could overthrow Jamrog’s regime.”

  Treet clucked his tongue. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want us to contact the Fieri for you and see if they’ll help you stop the opposition from tap-dancing on your heads. Right? Only relations have not been exactly cordial between you Dome Dwellers and the Outsiders for roughly two thousand years, give or take a few centuries. Just what makes you think they’ll greet this proposal of yours with the proper degree of enthusiasm? Hmm?”

  Tvrdy’s eyes narrowed. “You have a quick mind, Orion Treet. You understand why we cannot go to the Fieri. That is why I ask you. You are Travelers. They will listen to you.”

  “Maybe. Then again, they might just assume we’re spies and donate our bodies to the cause of Universal Misunderstanding. It seems to me others have done that around here.”

  Tvrdy said nothing. Pizzle, looking uncomfortable, tried to smooth things over. “I
t wasn’t like that, Treet. They didn’t know. It was a mistake.”

  “No mistake, Pizzy old boy.”

  “He’s right,” Tvrdy agreed. “It was no mistake. The things that were done to you were done intentionally. But I hope you believe that not everyone agrees with those tactics.” He paused, features softening. “My friends and I have risked everything to save you. It would have been much easier to let Jamrog keep you.”

  “Oh, I’m not ungrateful,” said Treet. “I just wanted you to know that I know what’s going on around here.”

  Just then the lift arrived from below, and three more people tumbled into the Director’s kraam. Treet only saw one of them. “Yarden!”

  He jumped up and went to her, and would have taken her in his arms if not for the dazed expression on her face and the emptiness in her eyes. She looked directly at him without a flicker of recognition. “Yarden? Are you okay? Yarden, you’re safe. It’s Treet. Remember me? Orion Treet.”

  She stared around at her surroundings, and big tears formed. in her eyes. She turned back to Treet and reached a quivering hand to his face. “I remember you,” she whispered. The tears overflowed her lashes and streamed down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, swayed on her feet. “I remember … everything!”

  Yarden collapsed into him, and he put his arms around her to hold her up. Long sobs shook her, and she buried her face against his chest and let go. Treet held her close, saying, “There now, you’re safe. It’s over. You’re safe now.”

  After a while she stopped crying. At Tvrdy’s suggestion Treet led her into the next room and made her comfortable on the suspension bed. She closed her eyes the moment her head touched the cushion; she was deeply asleep as Treet crept from the room.

  “I think she’ll be all right,” he said as he rejoined the others.

  “Sure,” agreed Pizzle. He regarded Treet owlishly. “It’s rough at first—takes some time to get yourself oriented. Once she’s past it, she’ll be fine.”