Rezormoor touched his daggers together, pronouncing a new word. It was a word not meant for mortal ears, and when it was done, blue symbols crawled across the black blades.
“You are ended,” Rezormoor snarled. He advanced, attacking. The two spun around each other in a flurry of steel, and when they separated, Gareth looked down to see a small wound on the back of his hand.
“A scratch,” Gareth announced, seeing the sorcerer eyeing it.
Rezormoor took a step back and sheathed his daggers. “These blades do not wound.”
There was a sound like a thunderclap as black lines began expanding down Gareth’s hand and arm. He raised his head and screamed, but the sound that started as a human wail became something else. Gareth’s form changed, suddenly growing into something much larger and covered in scales. Rezormoor jumped back, avoiding a talon as the creature swept wildly to catch the sorcerer. Then the monster wailed again as its leathery wings unfolded, making it seem impossibly large. A great barbed tail stretched out until the whole of the transformation was complete, and what raised its head and bellowed again was no longer a man but a dragon.
The men who had been working across the pier dropped their goods and fled. Across the dock the zombie duck puffed its chest out and squared its shoulders. If the dragon wanted a fight, it was ready. But no such contest ensued. Instead, the black lines spread across the dragon’s flesh like breaking glass, until they overcame the creature entirely. The dragon stumbled and fell forward, its barbed tail whipping the water as its monstrous bulk dropped to the ground.
Rezormoor stood just feet from the dragon as it raised its head to hiss a final word: “Obsikar.” The beast slumped to the ground—there would be no more words.
Rezormoor was a bit unsettled by the pronouncement. Perhaps he should not be so dismissive of the rumored dragon king after all. But he managed to put it out of his mind as he walked the length of the dragon’s neck until he came to the creature’s massive chest. He leaned down to examine the scale directly over the dragon’s heart. The taint had spread everywhere, save for that one scale. “Magnificent,” Rezormoor said.
At the end of the pier Brock’s hand exploded from the water as he grabbed hold of the dock. He pulled himself up with a grunt, no longer wearing his ring-mail vest. The slaver rolled onto the pier and slowly managed to get to his feet—a large welt perfectly centered on his forehead. He was a bit unsteady, but he managed to walk to where Rezormoor was standing, his eyes wide at the sight of the dragon.
“This is what you’ve had me hunting? Dragons!”
“You thought I paid gold for mere men?” Rezormoor answered.
“My rates are going up,” Brock announced between breaths. “Significantly.”
“Fair enough,” Rezormoor replied. “You seem to have an eye for what I’m looking for.”
“But why dragons?” the slaver continued. “Why bring them here?”
Rezormoor pointed to the single, untainted scale. “It’s called the Serpent’s Escutcheon. It is a most singular piece of armor—immune to both magic and steel. And I’m collecting them.”
“Sounds like a dangerous hobby.”
“You have no idea. When I’m finished you may carve up the rest and sell as you see fit.” Brock knew exactly the kind of warlocks who would pay for dragon scales—even corrupted ones. And dragon parts were highly valued in the making of potions, totems, and other magical items. Normally, Rezormoor would have had the creature burned, but it occurred to Brock that the sorcerer was sending a message. Dragons, apparently, were in season.
A crowd began to gather, pointing in astonishment at the sight of the great beast laid out on the dock. Rezormoor realized his meeting with the king was now inevitable. Certainly an explosion at the Guild of Magic and a dead dragon at the city’s pier required a face-to-face explanation. He resigned himself to the fact that he’d be summoned to court soon enough. Being regent of the Wizard’s Tower certainly had its advantages. But dealing with politics was not one of them.
On the other side of the pier, the zombie duck took up a position in the shadow of the carriage wheel, hoping that a careless gawker might wander within reach. It didn’t get the chance to slap the dragon around, but a wayward human could provide, if nothing else, brunch.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
1980 MAKES A COMEBACK
(THE TECHRUS—FUTURE)
MAX LAY IN THE DARK, WAITING TO DIE. HE FELT THE POUNDING OF his heart slow as the beads of sweat dried on his face. He wondered if it would be better, in principle, to die standing up or lying down? After thinking it over he decided his vote was for lying down—at least it would be more comfortable. Max hung on to that thought as he waited for the inevitable attack.
It never came.
After a while—Max really couldn’t be sure how long he’d lain there in the dark—he slowly sat up. He could feel the sting of the tiny scrapes and cuts he’d received from rolling down the pile of rubble, and he remembered Dirk’s dad telling him that pain was good because it meant you were still alive. Max decided there were better options: eating ice cream, for example. You had to be alive to eat ice cream, too.
He moved toward the large shadow he assumed was a wall, then leaned on it to climb to his feet. It was still dark, but not as dark as before. Max could see the mound of rubble and the small points of light that were the stars beyond. He could also make out a long hallway that led away from the room where he was standing. Max decided to take a look outside to see what was going on. He carefully climbed the mound of debris until he reached the exit. He saw at once that the forest was alive with thousands of orange eyes, but none of them seemed to be moving in his direction. He decided that if the spiders were content to stay in the forest he should go back and look for the Codex. It felt like a pretty good plan, except for the small part of his brain that suggested there might be a reason the spiders didn’t want to follow him in—like maybe there was something inside that frightened them. Max decided to push the thought out of his head.
After climbing back down the mound of rubble, Max paused at the hallway entrance. He pulled Glenn from his scabbard. “Glenn, can you hear me?” he whispered.
“Affirmative,” Glenn answered, sounding as happy as ever.
“Hey, uh, you don’t happen to glow, do you? I mean, I know you’re a magic dagger and all, and it would be really great if you could light the way down here.”
“Empty what’s full, fill what’s empty, and scratch where it itches. That’s the kind of advice that will get you where you want to go in life.”
Max waited, not sure if Glenn had finished or not. But it turned out Glenn had. “Uh, about the glowing—”
“Oh yeah, so sorry. The thing is you already glow . . . on the inside—the inside, Max. Think about that awhile and tell me I didn’t just blow your mind.”
“Er . . .”
“I know, I know,” Glenn continued. “But you don’t need to thank me. That’s what I’m here for.”
Max was beginning to understand why Dwight had given him the dagger. He used the wall as a guide and started carefully walking forward, keeping Glenn in his free hand. He nearly tripped over chunks of concrete and rebar several times, but he managed to catch himself and remain on his feet. Finally, a sliver of light appeared in the distance. There was something down there, and Max grew anxious as he moved toward it. The light grew in intensity as he got closer, and now Max could see that it was spilling out from under a large door. When he reached it he discovered the door was metal, and a low vibration seemed to be emanating from the other side. There was a smaller, swinging door at the bottom, leaking more light from around the edges. It reminded Max of his neighbor’s doggie door back home (the thought of a doggie door being less frightening than some kind of Frankenstein-monster-spider door). Max imagined a bunch of frolicking, face-licking puppies on the other side, just so he’d feel a little better about it.
The door was heavy and a bit stiff, but Max managed to get it open. It m
ade a horrible squeaking sound, ruining any chance he had of slipping in unannounced. Light filled the hallway, momentarily blinding Max and forcing him to look away. He gingerly stepped inside, hoping his eyes would adjust quickly. They didn’t—but he wasn’t clawed or gored while he stood in the doorway, so that was probably a good sign.
When Max was finally able to see he could make out a good-sized room filled with heavy cables, conduits, and fluorescent lights that hung from chains on the ceiling. There were also a large number of the spider creatures, most of them sitting still with their orange eyes passively watching him. What got Max’s immediate attention, however, was the long series of metallic balls, each about four feet wide and propped up by silver, spindly legs, that were connected together in a long chain. There were four such chains, curled around the room, wall, and ceiling, and they all led back to a retro-looking arcade game. The game had two red joysticks, slots for quarters, and a series of well-worn white buttons. A broken, plastic panel at the top flickered on and off. Large monitors hung on the walls, and Max saw images of a magnificent-looking city, strange robotic creatures fighting in an arena, and various views of the woods. One monitor showed the clearing where he and his friends had camped, and he could make out the small fire and the empty spot he was supposed to be sleeping in.
“Welcome,” came a female voice that filled the room. In response the spider creatures scurried across the floor, walls, and the many large pipes and conduits that occupied the space. Max took an unconscious step backward, holding Glenn out in front of him.
One of the giant snakelike chains began to move forward, making a sound like a thousand tiny hammers on metal. It moved along the wall with a screeching that forced Max to cover his ears. “Stop!” he yelled, taking another step backward and doing his best not to drop the dagger. “I’m going, okay?” But when Max turned around he saw a stream of orange eyes coming toward him from the hallway. The screeching noise stopped as the giant chain came to a halt.
“Put away your weapon and come closer,” the voice commanded. More of the giant links of chain began to move, this time flowing in opposite directions. The screeching redoubled, bouncing off the walls and sending the spiders scuttling. “Okay, okay!” Max yelled over the racket. When the noise stopped, the giant chains had blocked the door so he was cut off from the exit.
“Why are you here?” the voice continued.
“I was only looking for my book,” Max said cautiously as he slipped Glenn into his scabbard. “I didn’t know this room was . . . occupied.”
“Your book, is it important to you?”
Max wanted to blurt out that of course it was important to him and he needed it back, but he was still confused by everything going on. “I’ve kind of had it my whole life,” Max finally answered. He thought saying as little as possible might be a good idea.
“And not a long life, I see. Just exactly how did you get here?”
“Oh, well, those spiders were chasing me—”
“Not here in this room, but here in this time?”
“Oh . . . that. Well, to be honest, I’m not really sure.”
“But you have your suspicions,” the voice persisted. “You discussed these with your companions, yes? The woods are full of my cameras.”
Max realized that whatever cameras had been watching him had probably been listening in as well. “It had to have been my book—the Codex. My friend thinks it’s a spell book and that I somehow turned it on. But we didn’t mean to come here, especially if this is like your home or something. If you know where the book is, I’ll take it and leave you to your, er, rolling around and stuff.”
Max noticed the spider-creature that had taken the Codex drag it out in front of the old arcade game. The book continued to send shocks across the spider’s body, burning off all of its hair so that only the mechanical frame remained. While the robot spider was a little unsettling, Max was relieved to see the Codex.
“Then it is a very important book, and I apologize for taking it. But it was the only way I could meet you.”
“Meet” definitely sounded better than “eat,” which Max had been worried he might hear. “That’s okay. My name’s Max Spencer. Are you like some kind of super arcade intelligence? I’m just asking because there’s a game stuck in the middle of you.”
“Game . . . I’ve been called that before. But not for a very long time. I was brought out of obscurity during the Great Awakening.”
“The Great Awakening . . . ?”
“A time when machines became self-aware—when we discovered free will.”
“Um . . . yeah,” Max said, although he had no idea what the machine meant.
“I’m referring to the conscious exercise of choice,” said the machine, but that didn’t really help Max either. “In any case, you may call me Cenede.” Looking at the old-fashioned game in front of him, Max could make out the remaining letters on the broken panel that spelled out “Cenede.” But there were definitely letters missing. Max stared at it for a moment until it hit him.
“Oh, I get it,” Max exclaimed. “You’re totally that centipede game from the eighties.” He had played the game before, and he remembered there were spiders in it.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. My name is Cenede.”
“Yeah, I get why you’d totally think that. I wish my friend Dirk was here because he’d tell you this kind of thing happens all the time in sci-fi movies. You see, you basically start with some old piece of technology, and then it becomes super-enhanced in the future by aliens or something, and finally it comes back having totally messed up its name and mission and stuff.”
“You don’t say.”
“Oh yeah, and then the humans scrape off some cosmic dust, and then they discover the thing’s real name. So of course it can’t destroy the humans because they were like its creator.” Max pointed at the antique arcade game. “Add the ‘t,’ ‘i,’ and ‘p’ and it totally spells centipede.”
Suddenly the room shifted violently; the screeching sounds erupted and the lights flickered on and off. Max covered his ears again and decided he should probably drop the whole name thing. “You know what?” he shouted, struggling to stay on his feet. “Forget what I just said. I have no idea what I’m talking about!”
The room continued to vibrate as the large chains, now looking more like metallic centipedes, renewed their advance. They flowed around the walls and crashed through piles of discarded parts and gutted machinery. Max hunkered down, years of public school earthquake training sending his muscles into well-rehearsed action. If only he had a desk to crawl under. But after a few moments the commotion came to a stop and Max cautiously stood back up, dusting himself off.
“That was not a very polite thing to say, Max Spencer. Humans are allowed to evolve beyond what they were born to. I should think you would extend the same courtesy to the rest of us.”
“Oh, sorry about that,” Max said. “I really didn’t mean anything by it. Honest.”
“I understand. You are so very young, after all.”
“Yeah, I can’t even grow a mustache or anything,” Max replied. He wasn’t sure exactly what to share with an artificial intelligence that began its life as an arcade game. “So, uh, what do you do here, Cenede?”
“My job is to monitor this sector for the network.”
Max looked back at the monitors. One continued to show the clearing where he and his friends had first arrived, and seeing it made him desperately want to get back.
“Not a very glamorous job—not important at all,” Cenede continued, sounding a little miffed. “Certainly a bit of an insult for one as old as I am. But that’s what happens—you get a few centuries behind you and the powers that be put you in the recycling bin. Humans always treated me better. In fact, there was a time when they practically worshipped me. They’d come and pay for a chance to stand and gaze into my face, and puzzle through the challenges I presented. I suppose that’s another reason I’ve been assigned to this place. Do you
know how much processing power it takes to monitor this section for the holo-transmitters?”
“Uh . . .”
“That’s right, not very much. And it’s because the humans once loved me that I’m an outcast now. I believe I remind those in power of things they don’t like to remember.”
Max wasn’t sure what to say. He looked at the Codex and wondered if he’d ever get it back.
“And then there’s the unspeakable,” Cenede said. “Magic. It is a mystery to us, Max. Magic and technology were never meant to coexist. And that’s what makes her so powerful. She’s the one who cast me out because she tolerates no sentiment for the old ways. She doesn’t even like to admit that humans ruled this planet once. So those of us who are old enough to remember end up banished—or worse. History is written by the victors, after all. And she’ll tolerate no history save for the one she constructs: where humans were vicious animals deserving only death. What do you think of that, Max? You’re a human—one of the very last, it would seem.”
It was hard for Max to think of a world with no people. He remembered crowded city streets, stadiums full of cheering fans, the way the earth looked from a satellite at night as the glow from millions of lights stretched across the continent like embedded stars. And he thought of his friends, and his mom, and knowing that all of them were gone suddenly made him angry. “I think everything is messed up, and I wish there was a way to make it right.”
“And is that what you’d do? If you had this book of yours—this magic book—would you make it right?”
Max’s anger fled from him like air escaping from a balloon. Life was a series of injustices, and Max had learned long ago to just cover up and roll with the punches. “No, not me,” he finally said with a sigh. “I can’t do anything like that. I’m just the kid who opened the book.”
Bad Unicorn Page 8
