Gemworld

by Jeremy Bullard

  The granite felt his anger stirring again, and killed that line of thought before it soured his mood further. He reminded himself, forcibly, that Reit was right. He did know what he was doing, a whole lot better than Keth did. He’d been planning this whole thing for months, if not years. And here they were, loaded down with the knowledge of ages past and just a few blocks from the harbor, almost home free. Everything had gone perfectly. So why did he feel uneasy? Even as his anger cooled, it was replaced by something else. It was very vague at first, little more than a feeling of being unsettled, but growing stronger.

  He followed Reit dumbly, his eyes focused more inward that out. Something was definitely wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was the strangest feeling. It was as if there was someone there, on the very edge of his consciousness, watching him. Closing in on him. That’s when he noticed the faint buzzing in his head.

  He’d long since tuned out the many magical auras of Bastion. Emerald, sapphire, ruby, and amethyst auras all sat patiently on the fringes of his awareness, awaiting his attention. He even thought he felt Sal’s wispy presence, as faint as the scent of a flower in a midden heap. But that wasn’t the presence that drew his attention. Strange as it seemed, it was like looking into a mirror. Somewhere out there, he felt himself—

  The buzzing in his head erupted momentarily as he bumped shoulders with someone bustling the other way. A ruby aura filled his senses briefly, then quickly died as the contact was broken. By reflex, Keth turned to apologize for his carelessness. The ruby was dressed as any other citizen enjoying the Festival, his leather armors doffed in favor of more comfortable linens. But the segmented fist was plainly visible on his forehead, the tattoo dyes standing out clearly amongst the natural flesh. That same tattoo stood out on the foreheads of more than a dozen or so other celebrants nearby, who were thus far completely oblivious to what was brewing between Keth and the ruby. Keth instantly realized his mistake, but it was already too late. By the time he’d recognized the mage for a Rank officer, the ruby had recognized him as well.

  The ruby, just as stunned as Keth was, froze in his tracks. Keth could almost see the ruby’s mind stall out, but before he could take advantage of it, the moment ended and the soldier came alive.

  “Renegade!” cried the ruby, the shout breaking high above the din of the crowd, and drawing the dread attention of his comrades.

  Keth’s response was instant, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as he took action. He dropped to one knee, wielding as he fell. He felt the granite magic flood his conduits, flowing into his soul then back out again. He enveloped Reit in a field of pure granite magic, solidified it, hopefully protecting him from any spells that might happen his way. Keth snatched a handful of dust and gravel, and spun back up onto his feet. He flung both hands out as he came up.

  Reaching out behind him, he felt his aura touch the field surrounding Reit. He locked onto it and pushed—hard. He wasn’t certain how far Reit flew, or how many celebrants were plowed under in the process, but the field quickly reached the boundary of Keth’s magical influence and dissipated. Keth’s real attentions were focused elsewhere, however.

  With his left arm behind him locked onto Reit, Keth swung his right arm around in front, releasing the gravel and his magics simultaneously. The dirt took shape as it flew, tightening from a cloud of debris into a swarm of long, metallic needles.

  Howls of pain and anger filled the air as the missiles found their targets. Some of the soldiers fell writhing to the ground, pin-cushioned by the projectiles. Others, pierced through the heart or the brain, fell over dead. Those few that remained—the ruby included; he’d been able to melt his dart before it struck him, causing only minor burns where the molten metal splashed him—those few Rank soldiers retaliated viciously.

  Gouts of flame and lightning slammed into Keth repeatedly, knocking him back several steps with the sheer ferocity of the attack. The mana flooding his conduits offered some protection from the magical assault, but he was still taking a beating. He had to get out of there, and fast. He gathered his pack of scrolls closely to him. Then, turning his magic inward, he wielded, melting into the street with a ripple. Above him, the battle raged a moment longer, a terrified populace providing its final casualties.

  Keth’s senses expanded as he entered the earth. There, beneath the city, he could clearly feel Sal’s aura, tainted with amethyst magic. Odd. Keth had never noticed it before, but that taint had a borrowed feel to it. An incomplete feel.

  He also felt Reit—or rather, he felt the residue of his own magics clinging to Reit like a wet tunic. More, Reit was on the move. Apparently, his little flying lesson hadn’t done any permanent damage.

  He breathed a sigh of relief—as much a sigh as he could breath, being one with the ground. But that relief was short-lived. Several miles to the south, he felt his mirror images again, and this time recognized them for what they were. Granites. Five of them, and headed his way.

  Determined not to hesitate again, he spurred himself into action. Here in the bowels of the earth, he could feel magical auras so much clearer, to the extent of being able to pinpoint them with startling accuracy. He used this ability now to guide him to Reit. He found his friend was perhaps seventy five yards west of him, and weaving his way northward, probably through the crowds on the Northgate Road. Keth launched himself in that direction, homing in on his own magical signature.

  Crowded streets, packed to the gills with mages and mundanes alike, zipped by overhead as Keth arrowed for his target. It was a challenge to stay focused, passing through wine storage and cold cellars as he sped forward. He became one with so many materials in such a short time that his head started to ache, but he refused to acknowledge the pain. He drew near to Reit, almost coming directly below him, and angled upward, breaching the street like a fish on a hook.

  Colors swirled in his vision as his eyes tried to adjust to being one with the air. It was a remarkable thing to witness, but one he had no time for just now. He released the granite magic momentarily, and felt gravity regain its hold on him as he solidified.

  His angle had been nearly perfect, sending him hurtling in a high arc above the street. Scores of startled men, women, and children watched the display in awe, taking him for some sort of acrobat. But the performance came to an abrupt end as Keth came crashing down on top of Reit. Aura already extended, Keth wrapped it around Reit as the two made contact, then he wielded, melting them both into the ground.

  Back in the earth, Keth held tightly to the rigid form of his friend and aimed for the Northgate and their waiting army beyond, with the granite guards hot on their heels, and gaining fast.

  ***

  Sal didn’t see very much of the attack, even touching Amethyst as he was. Beyond Keth’s initial contact with the ruby, and the forming of that shield around Reit—what an absolutely remarkable thing!—he saw little except colorful bursts of magic and the stampede of violet-hazed skeletons, scrambling to get out of the way. Even now, with the chaos all but over, it was sheer luck that he spied Keth speeding away beneath the city. At the rate he was traveling, he’d be out of Bastion in a matter of seconds.

  But to the north? That didn’t make any sense. The smartest, and likely the easiest getaway would have been to the west, into the harbor. That’s where their ship was, bobbing at anchor just a few yards out. All there was to the north was a sloping plain coming off of Mount Ysre. A flat sloping plain, with very few trees, very little cover...

  A nearly textbook battlefield!

  If they were planning what he thought they were planning, they’d definitely need his help. Gathering the amethyst energies, he turned his focus inward, and—

  “Sal!” came the cry from behind him. It was the ruby he’d left in command of the Archives posting.

  “Frasyr! I thought I gave you a direct order to remain at your post?” Sal demanded.

  “And leave you without backup? Fat chance of that happening. Sir,” he added quickly at the sight
of his subsergeant’s irritation. “Besides, there were enough of us that I felt comfortable passing command off to that sapphire, Viktor, and seeing what I could do to help.”

  As much as he wanted to, Sal couldn’t fight the logic. Frasyr was right. You never went into a dangerous situation alone if you could help it. So since he was there, Sal put him to use. “Listen. Something happened and Keth—my granite friend?—he killed a couple of Rank officers. No, not any of ours, but it got the attention of the commissioned officers. We gotta go to Plan B.”

  “We have a Plan B?”

  “I guess that depends on how fast I can work one up. What I need is for you to get to Tribean. Have him round up all those loyal to the Cause. Yeah, yeah, I know we’re bound to have some traitors in the bunch. There’s nothing we can do about that right now. Just make sure you watch your back.”

  The ruby said nothing, just nodded grimly.

  “Alright, now here’s what we’re gonna do...”

  ***

  Sal quickly laid out his ad hoc plans for the ruby, then sent him on his way. The details were sketchy at best—he was too pressed for time to come up with anything more refined—but his lieutenants knew well how to improvise. They’d taken to the shol’tuk mindset almost as easily as he had.

  With things finally in motion, he wasted no more time. Turning his attentions inward, he wielded, wrapping himself in kinetic energy. There was a moment of disorientation—and exhilaration—when his feet left the ground, but he forced himself to remain calm. He sharpened his focus, and willed himself into the air, riding the Laws of Physics.

  It was a slow process—it definitely wasn’t Superman—and quite taxing mentally, but it took him high above the bustling streets, high above the expansive manor houses of the northern quarter of the city. He willed himself toward the Northgate, the general direction he’d seen Keth moving only a few minutes before.

  He set down on the stone arch of the Northgate, much to the distraction of the pair of recruits stationed there. He eyed them for a long moment, uncertain of their loyalties. It would be a decidedly inconvenient time to kill someone, but a worse time for surprises. Fortunately, it never came to that. The recruits nervously glanced at one another, then gave Sal that infuriating wink. He toyed briefly with the idea of killing with them anyway, but thought better of it.

  He cast his violet gaze out over the lands before him, searching for any sign of Keth. Off to the north, he did find a violet-wrapped brown aura, speeding further and further away. But what it was speeding towards...

  A fog of violet haze stretched across the plains to the north, blanketing the ground from the western coast of the island to the base of Mount Ysre. The fog was speckled with green, red, blue, and deeper violet auras, but most of those outlined in violet had no auras at all.

  Sal looked out upon the full force of the Resistance. Not only was Caravan represented here, but likely Wayfarer’s Rest, and numerous other villages formed in defiance of the Highest’s rule. Mages and mundanes, men and women of every race, all united toward a common goal, against a common enemy. This was no mere rag-tag group of refugees. This was an army. He swelled with pride at the sight. They still needed his help, to be sure—if they fell here, the Cause would surely die with them—but the situation wasn’t nearly as dire as he thought.

  His elation was cut short by the sound of angry murmuring, the clack of angry feet in the street below. Dozens of Rank officers and members of the local constabulary, still dressed in their Festival attire, erupted from the Northgate. Dozens. Scores. Hundreds. Sal lost count as the drunken, violent mass of humanity continued to pour out, gathering together with all the decorum of a lynch mob.

  In the center of the press stood what seemed to be the senior officers, conferring with one another as their troops assembled. There were five Granite Guards with them, dressed in robes rather than the cowled leather armor that the Guards normally wear. The senior officers seemed to address the granites as subordinates, though still with a bit of caution. They were granites, after all. One sapphire officer in particular, however, showed no special regard for the granites. For all that they were granites, he seemed completely at ease bossing them around. Unlike his comrades, he was stone sober and confident, as if he knew his every word would be obeyed to the letter. That one’s the leader, Sal deduced. Without him, this drunken rabble will completely fall apart. He felt the finer details of his Plan B falling into place.

  Glancing behind him for a moment to assure himself that his orders were being implemented, Sal lowered himself to the ground, reclaimed the emerald magic, and went to ingratiate himself upon his new best friend.

  “...uncouth, untrained barbarians who wouldn’t recognize a modern battle plan if it bloodied their sodding nose!” one Mandiblean mage was saying as Sal approached. “Kredik, a simple outflanking maneuver would throw their forces into utter chaos. We should jus-”

  “Perhaps it’s that way on the battlefields outside Deitrich,” the sapphire replied. “But the Highest dispatched a battle fist—five hundred soldiers of quality Earthen Rank stock—to the rebel village of Caravan. These ‘uncouth barbarians’ annihilated them.” The Mandiblean looked like he might continue to protest, but wisely decided to hold his tongue.

  Even amidst the heated discussion, Sal’s approach hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Subsergeant,” the sapphire—Kredik—addressed, turning his full attention to Sal. “Something you’d like to add to this meeting of the minds?”..

  “Subsergeant Sal, Fourth Garrison Regiment, commander of the Harvest security detail under Master Aten’rih, sir,” he replied, snapping off a smart salute. “Wanted to see if I could help, sir.”

  “At ease, Subsergeant. Would you mind telling me what the commander of Harvest security is doing outside the city walls?”

  “Well, I’ve got more than enough people covering the city, sir. We’ve got more recruits than we know what to do with. I figured I’d post smaller groups at various points, and still cover enough of the city that the bulk of my forces wouldn’t be missed much. Then I’d move them to where they could do the most damage. Maybe even get them a little hands-on training, sir.” He nodded generally to the north, and the rebel army.

  “And what makes you think that we need an army of Unmarked?”

  Sal resisted the urge to rub his naked forehead, though not easily. “Because my men are good, sir. They’re the best class Bastion camp has ever turned out. And because they’re sober.”

  This drew more than a few curses from the gathering, but drew only laughter from Kredik. He silenced the crowd instantly with a minute gesture, so small that Sal almost missed it. A strong leader, indeed.

  “Straight forward, practical, unfearing... I like that. Alright, Subsergeant. Your group remains in the rear for support. You’re up front with me. Watch, and learn.”

  Chapter 30

  Wind whipped through Nestor’s hair, what hair wasn’t pinned down by the invisible restraints that the winged serpent had applied. The bindings were made of pure air, solidified by the sapphire-colored serpent’s magic—an exceptionally rare use of Sapphire, and exceptionally powerful besides, considering the shackle that should have defeated the magics. In all his years as Chief General, in all his dealings with the other Tiles, he still found himself amazed at how little the lower ranks of each Tile knew of what their soulgems could really do. Granted, there were some things that even he held back from his Granite Guard, but it was for the benefit of the Tile as a whole, allowing their apparent losses to mold them, solidify them into a fighting force as unbreakable as their soulgem suggested. But to realize that the other Tiles held just as much back...

  His bindings ran from his mouth to just below the knee, securing him so completely that he could not even turn his neck one way or the other. Crafter be praised that they were moderately loose around his chest, else he would be unable to take a full breath.

  Bound as he was, it was difficult for him to see what was going on around him. Thankf
ully, he was in the front talon of the serpent—Dragon, he told himself; there could be no other explanation, though the possibility of seeing that myth fleshed out before him sent his mind reeling—with Jaeda’s limp form, cradled gently in the beast’s other talon, on the very edge of his field of vision. She appeared well, her musculature completely relaxed, showing no signs of death-stiffening. Whatever the dragon had done to her, she was still alive and unharmed, at least as far as he could tell.

  The dragon itself was quite a sight, what little of it he could actually take in. It was covered in blue-black plates that could only be scale, though they were quite unlike any scale he’d ever seen. They were technically organic, but hard almost to the point of being metallic, with flashes of sapphire patterns mixed in with the patterns of natural scale. Thick, corded muscle could be seen where the scale was thin, tightening and relaxing as the beast maneuvered. It was a monstrous creature of great physical strength—completely worthy of the ancient mythologies—matched only by the strength of its magic. It was easily a hundred paces long from snout to tail, with its wingspan twice that. Wings...

  His eyes shot to his left of their own accord, taking in the view before he could stop himself. He forced his eyes shut, but in the eye of his mind he could still see the ground speeding past at a rate that made pegasi look slow. The vast bowl of the crater, at least ten leagues from lip to lip, was proving little more than a leisurely stroll for the dragon. Already, the near lip of the bowl had fallen away, at least a league distant in less than a blink. By Nestor’s estimation, they could be no more than two leagues from the base of the mountain that stood in the center—

  Nestor felt a lurch as his insides lost all weight. Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes again, and immediately regretted it. The crater floor that had once seemed so distant was rushing up to meet them at a frightening pace. The dragon was angled downward and seemingly picking up speed, if that were possible. Had Nestor not been so tightly bound, the inertia would likely have bend him double, as much the rag doll as Jaeda was in the dragon’s other palm.