by Stefon Mears
Was it really only a few days ago that Mr. Mohatar had told Donal how good a couple they made?
“Comórtas Draíocht,” Li Hua said again. “That’s two times, Donal. Accept the challenge or accept the geas.” She shrugged. “Or try to do neither and weaken the power of your word. Erode your oaths. Sure, you’ll lose your cú sidhe, but you always wanted to try for an Enochian familiar anyway—”
Give up Fionn?
That was the most insulting thing she had said yet. More than her condescension. More than her confidence of victory. That she would even suggest that Donal would sever his ties to Fionn...
True, Donal had not summoned a familiar in college like most of his classmates. True, Donal had once had plans of becoming the first modern magician to bind an elemental familiar using an Enochian approach of his own devising.
But Fionn had become more than a best friend, more than a partner. The familiar ritual had used the words as part of the alchemy to seal the bonds between them: “my tears, my blood, my sweat, your life.” Donal had felt the truth of those words ever since. Fionn was no mere spirit. Fionn was a part of Donal.
And to imply that Donal would give up his familiar to avoid getting beat up?
“I accept your challenge.” Donal turned and walked into his room, certain that now he could safely turn his back. The challenge had been issued and accepted, binding her by its rules as much as him.
Perhaps Li Hua had been taunting him about the familiar, but even the implication that Donal would give up Fionn had been enough to make him angry. And Donal knew he needed his anger right now.
For all its art and precision, thaumaturgy relied on a magician’s confidence and sense of authority as much as on his skill. Donal’s confidence going into this duel was weak and he knew it, but perhaps he could make up the difference in anger....
◊
Machado wiped his face with both hands. As he did, he eased a slow, deep breath in through his nose, imagining it spiraling all the way down into the very soles of his feet, then let it out just as slowly through his mouth, reversing the spiral.
By the time he stepped up to the largest magic circle in his workshop his mind was clear and ready to cast.
Machado spared a glance for Cromartie, but the Initiate was doing his job. After pulling the keys, he had moved over to the third circle and begun augmenting the wards where and how he could.
Machado stopped just shy of entering the circle. He turned to Cromartie and said, “Enough of that for now. I want you to prepare a half-dozen distractions for the ships that pursue us. You don’t have to stop them, just slow them down until I’m ready to deal with them.”
Machado pulled from his pocket a small red cloth bag tied off with matching cord. Without looking, he tossed it over his left shoulder and into the burning brazier behind him. Machado had labored for weeks to determine the exact components necessary for that incense. He had driven Fredrickson half crazy trying to gather the ingredients, especially since Machado refused to say why he needed them.
But Machado had no intention of making her party to his crime. And the moment he threw that incense into a fire he committed a crime against all laws governing civilian ships and the limits of their wards.
Machado had always pushed his wards as hard as the law allowed to protect the Horizon Cusp from the various hazards they faced. But this time, Machado crossed that line, and only Captain Jacobs knew that he had prepared to do so.
Machado stepped into the circle and began threading together the subtle groundwork he had built up over the course of months, interweaving the threads of scores of half-cast spells.
By the time he finished, the Horizon Cusp would have active wards at least as potent as those of their pursuers.
And if Machado had anything to say about it, the wards of the Horizon Cusp would be even better.
◊
“Captain!” said Grabowski. “Two more gunships at twelve o’clock high!”
“Dive!” Jacobs’ fists clenched and unclenched with the need to punch something, if only he could find a target. But the captain’s station lacked a punching bag. He settled for finally smacking the gryphon image on the beak, sounding general quarters.
Jacobs reassured himself that Burke had proven himself a good pilot, would be able to handle all of Jacobs’ orders. He did not need to seize the helm and handle this escape himself.
He did not need to do it.
The klaxon rang out, followed by the sound of his own voice calling the crew to their stations. The passengers would already be confined to quarters. Still...
“Communications, get me Goldberg. Scanners, what’s our status?”
“The new gunboats are shifting course to intercept. The ones that accompanied the Orpheus have fallen off the chase, but the Orpheus herself is hanging with us. And, Captain, she’s heating up her chutes.”
Jacobs stood in his chair and twisted to regard the Orpheus behind them. It was about the size of the Horizon Cusp, but bore the outer shape of an old steel cruiser that would have sailed the seas before technology fell. The kind Jacobs first served on.
“All right, you bastards. You’ll cut us off fore and aft and trap us against the zuglodon hunting ground? I don’t think so.” Jacobs pointed at Burke. “Helm! Hard to port. Take us deeper into the no-fly zone.”
“Captain,” said Jefferson, “I have the chief for you.”
“Link him through.” Jacobs turned to the forming head of Chief Goldberg. “Passengers squared away?”
“Everyone but Tai Shi.” Goldberg’s lips puckered like he wanted to spit. “Claimed I didn’t have the authority and browbeat my men into letting her go. Want me to chase her down?”
“Damn her and damn her title, but we can’t spare the time. I need your men ready in case the Navy boards us.”
“You want us to fight armed and ready Navy spacers?” The head tilted and swayed as though Goldberg cracked his neck. “Do we have cause?”
“I’m logging their charts and response as recklessly endangering civilian lives at high space. At least three crimes in that.”
“Good enough for me, Captain. My people and I will give them hell, but you know as well as I do that if they board us we’re as good as sunk.”
“You just get ready to fight and leave the rest to me. Bridge out.” Jacobs slashed his hand through the image to cut the connection.
Under his breath Jacobs said, “Mash, your little trick better work.”
◊
Donal moved the coffee table and couch next to the round table and recliners under the porthole, then slid the two matching chairs back, making room for their duel. But not just any duel. The Comórtas Draíocht had its own formal rules beyond what the law required; it was every bit as much a ritual spell as a fight.
While Donal cleared the space, Li Hua summoned Pinyin Lung. Then the two magicians moved to stand two meters apart, distant enough to give them space, but close enough to give their familiars room to create the circle around them. They faced each other, each with a familiar on the right.
Donal looked down for a moment of prayer, as the rules permitted.
Great Lugh, Skillful One, He Who Sits in the Seat of the Sage, guide me to victory today as you guided the Tuatha de Dannan to victory over the Fomorians at the Second Battle of Maige Tuired. I ask this not for myself, but on behalf of those my foe would make suffer under the yoke of oppression, those she would reduce to a servant class for the magicians among us. Great Lugh, you mastered all skills, and so you know that all people and all skills have value. Help me defend those whose crafts are not my own. I pray you, help me thwart her goals.
Donal went on to offer short prayers to the Dagda, Brigid, and Fionn MacCumhaill, seeking more divine assistance. By the time Donal finished, he felt clear once more and as ready to fight Li Hua as he would ever get. He looked up to see her, arms folded, her toe not quite tapping as she waited.
Donal met her eye and matched her timing, nodded, then together
they recited the formal commencement, infusing their words with a touch of power: “I declare that this matter binds us. No escape, no interference, until I yield or prove my mastery by spell alone.”
They turned to their familiars and said, three times, “Guard. Guide. Witness.”
Cú sidhe and dragon began to circle in a slow pace around the duelists. Donal offered and received the formal salute, given with the first two fingers of the right hand: point down to acknowledge those who have gone before, touch the core of the self, the solar plexus, touch the link to the universe, the forehead, point up to acknowledge those who will follow, and sweep a final gesture of respect to Those Who Watch.
With these simple rituals, Donal committed himself to the task. The magic was in place. Until the duel had a winner, neither of them could affect anything outside the circle of their familiars. But inside that circle, each had a direct link to the other, not only facilitating targeting, but also broadening the scope of their capabilities.
While dueling, Donal and Li Hua would be able to call on spells in mere moments that would otherwise take hours to construct, if they could even be done.
And now the circle had been set, the familiars posted, and the formal words spoken.
Thus, the duel began.
◊
Machado’s body sat on the floor of his workshop, in the center of the largest and most intricate magic circle on the ship, inhaling the piquant mixture of herbs and roots that formed this unique incense.
But Machado’s mind was deep in the tapestry of spells he had woven to protect the Horizon Cusp: the wards. In each of those wards, Machado had woven additional threads of power that played hell on his maintenance budget and required him to spend twice as much effort keeping those wards ready at a moment’s notice, even though in the six months since he had begun working little extras into those spells, no one but he would have noticed the difference.
A thread of power here, a half-finished spell there, little bits and pieces throughout the ship that lay dormant, waiting, in case Machado ever needed them.
Today, for the first time, he did.
Machado’s mind raced from system to system, working through the right order of completion to begin the change that would take the Horizon Cusp’s wards from high quality commercial grade to high quality military grade.
At least, that was the plan.
But in the moment, all Machado could do was work at full speed to catch every loose end, tying off and completing hundreds of spells faster than an Initiate could complete one.
Everyone knew that a Magister was more powerful than a Journeyman, and that a Hierophant was more powerful than a Magister. But what the laymen never understood was that the difference in grades meant more than channeling power. It meant mastering technique to finer and finer granularity, holding more and more complex spell structures in one’s head, making essential choices in the flash of an instant.
Machado needed all of these skills and more as he worked. And more than even that, he needed Saravá. His familiar gathered and distributed power, the raw work, allowing Machado to handle the finer work and keep moving.
But even Machado needed time. He had never attempted anything so involved and complex while under such duress. He could only hope that Jacobs could buy him enough to finish.
Well, he could also hope for one other thing.
He could hope the wards would work.
◊
In. Out. Slow. Steady. One breath follows the previous, as one movement follows the previous, as one spell follows the previous. Donal focused on the movements of his hands, pulling aside Li Hua’s rapid flow of fiery orange dragon’s teeth, almost a steady stream as part of her attack. He focused on shifting only exactly enough of his power to shunt the assault by, where it would hit the circle created by the two familiars and dissipate, its power strengthening their isolation and temporarily boosting the power of the familiars.
But most of all, he steadied his attention on his breathing. Each breath was life. Each breath was hope. Donal needed those breaths to keep his attention not on how the duel would end, but on precisely what he needed most to do each moment. That was how Professor N’kembe had told him to deal with complex spell tests.
The same technique served him well here and now.
It was Li Hua who had taught Donal to abandon the systems of breathing taught by the schools. Explained to him how they tipped his hand about the spells he cast.
But slow, steady, deep breaths did not trigger trained-in mental cues. They served Donal the same way they would serve anyone under pressure, and they served him well enough. Those dragon’s teeth were the sixth straight attack he had defeated without raising the slightest sweat.
Li Hua scarcely spared Donal a moment to counterattack, staying almost entirely on offense. But her strategy did not trouble Donal. He was content to remain on defense for the time being, studying her attacks and letting her waste as much effort as she desired.
Donal even attempted to allay suspicion by throwing token attacks here and there. Small bits of illusion that shattered against her counterattacks, not even requiring direct defenses.
But she already believed herself the superior magician. Let his trivial attacks confirm this in her mind. In the meantime, Donal had noticed her tendency to lean on kinetic attacks. Perhaps he could find a way to exploit that.
In the meantime, to each breath its place. In. Out. Slow. Steady....
◊
“Captain, it’s the Orpheus again.”
Jacobs didn’t bother to say anything, just nodded at Jefferson and slapped his comm pad the moment it glowed red. He didn’t wait for Liatos to speak, either.
“Make it fast, Captain. I’m trying to save lives here.”
“Heading deeper into restricted space is your idea of saving lives?”
“No, getting a military escort past the zuglodon hunting ground that your people misrepresented on the official charts was my idea of saving lives.” Jacobs gave the man a strong enough glare to make him blink. “But that’s not going to happen, so I have to improvise.”
“Time’s up, Captain. Surrender your ship or be destroyed.”
“We still have two minutes.”
Jacobs knew it sounded lame, but stalling was never his strong suit.
“You’ve abused that time and my mages tell me your ship wards lack the mandated military keys.”
“They were there until you threatened to murder civilians over an innocent mistake, Liatos. Our log will confirm it.”
“Earth law does not recognize the civilian right to make that call. Even making the keys removable is a fineable offense.”
“So fine me! The office is in—”
“I’ve had enough, Mister.” Even over the link, Jacobs could see fire blaze in Liatos’ eyes. “If you don’t surrender in the next five seconds, we shoot.”
Jacobs knew the man only did his job. Had been told that somewhere in this restricted zone were secrets worth keeping. Even at the cost of civilian lives. But damn it, this was still the military’s fault for at least sloppy charting, maybe even deliberate mis-charting.
Jacobs cut the link.
“Helm, escape maneuvers. Damage Control, I want reports as fast as I can get them. We’re in it now, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Sir! Destroyer! Dead ahead!” Grabowski practically leaped out of his chair and dove for cover, but he somehow managed to keep his hands on his station’s controls.
“I’d say we’ve gone far enough. Helm, ninety degrees to starboard and pitch us up thirty. And stay evasive!”
One advantage of a good crew. While they were doing their jobs, Jacobs had done his. All that poring over charts had let him plot no fewer than three escape routes, depending on when Liatos made them necessary. Gamma would have been best, but Jacobs never expected to get fifty thousand klicks into the restricted zone. Still, once the immediate dodging was finished, Jacobs would know which route to use.
“Incoming!”
Grabowski did duck that time, but at least he didn’t abandon his station. Jacobs glanced up reflexively as twin fireballs bore down on them.
Alchemy made military shot burn hot enough to melt even hardened ceramics. Thaumaturgy made those shots lighter and truer than ever before. But Jacobs still considered the fireballs little better than the ancients had with their Greek fire and catapults.
But archaic design or not, they would do enough damage if they struck true.
Jacobs could tell immediately that the shots from the Orpheus would miss wide to port. They weren’t in good position to shoot, and his yaw to starboard had taken their shots off line.
Unfortunately, the move must have been anticipated by the destroyer. It had loosed three fireballs of its own, and two of them bore straight down on the Horizon Cusp, likely to hit near the bridge and under the port wing.
Jacobs gritted his teeth and watched the fireball bear down on the bridge, bright light half-blinding him through squinted eyes.
The fireball splashed impotently against the wards.
“Yes!” roared Jacobs, thrusting one fist in the air. “Machado, I’m going to have a statue built to you!”
He grabbed the rail of his station and leaned over the crew. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is the work of our patron saint buying us time. Helm, get us the hell out of here. Follow escape route beta.”
Jacobs started to turn back to his charts for emergency modifications, but an evil idea occurred to him. Right now the Horizon Cusp had better wards than it had ever had before, possibly better than those of the pursuing ships...
“Belay that, Helm. Take us into the hunting ground. Let’s see if our Navy friends have the stomach to follow.”
◊
Sweat crept down Donal’s face, burned his eyes, stuck his shirtsleeves to his arms. Even his breathing grew shallow, his defenses less elegant. Meanwhile, Li Hua’s attacks grew more intricate without losing any of their power.
