by Rick Cook
The party sat down on a convenient patch of rocks and all of them looked at Wiz expectantly. "Well," he said to break the silence, "what are our options?" No one wanted to mention the obvious one: Give up, try to make their way to the surface and wait for rescue.
"Dwarves can find their way underground," Danny suggested. "Perhaps Glandurg can guide us?"
"I would have to know where we were going," the dwarf said shortly.
"Impractical."
"Besides," Malkin said, "he tends to get lost."
"Slander," hissed the dwarf.
"Okay, settle down, people. The important thing is it won’t work" Glandurg and Malkin glared at each other but obeyed.
"What about re-casting the seeker spell?" Malkin asked after a minute.
"Hard to do. We could write a new spell easily enough, but we need something like a lock of Moira’s hair to focus the spell." He sighed. "If Moira’s personality were still with her body we could work something up to seek that, but otherwise we’ve got to have something intimately connected with her."
"Her cloak," June said from her place beside Danny. "Like mine."
"Similarity isn’t good enough I’m afraid."
"From the same cloth. Made at the same time."
With a pang Wiz remembered the long summer afternoons when Moira and June had sat together under a rose bower at Wizards’ Keep, sewing the matching cloaks for the coming winter and watching Ian and Caitlin romp among the rose bushes. Sometimes they had worked together, with a cloak stretched across their knees as they sat side by side or across from each other.
"Wait a minute! You both worked on Moira’s cloak, didn’t you?"
June nodded.
"Did you ever prick your finger while you worked and get blood on the cloak?" A hesitation and then another nod.
"Jackpot! Okay, we can do this then."
Everyone looked at him. "DNA," he explained. "If June got blood on the cloak her DNA is still on there."
"Washed it," June said defensively.
"I’m sure you didn’t get it all out. We can home on your DNA."’
Danny grinned. "Yeah, and because it’s uniquely hers it will stand out almost as strongly as a true name." Then his face fell. "Wait a minute. How are you going to make it sensitive enough to find June’s blood on Moira’s cloak with June standing right here?"
"I’ve got a way to make a spell directional, like an antenna. As long as June’s not in the beam, her presence won’t interfere."
"Let’s get to it, then."
In the event it took several hours to produce and check the spell. Part of that was because Wiz and Danny took good care to armor the code against tampering and to sprinkle alarms throughout the program to warn of attempted subversion. Part of it was the usual quota of unexpected problems and glitches. Part of it was simply that it’s harder to work sitting on rocks in a cave than it is in your own workroom. So while Glandurg fidgeted, Malkin watched and June did whatever June did, the pair turned out a new spell.
The only real difficulty came in drawing a sample of June’s blood for comparison. June was so eager to hero she slashed a four-inch gash in her arm and Wiz and Danny had to break off preparing the spell to give her first aid. Finally they held up the finished product and commanded it to find Moira. Almost instantly the pointer lit up and swung around, pointing almost back the way they had come.
"Wonderful,’’ Danny said glumly. "We have been going in the wrong direction." Wiz ached to get going in the new direction but common sense prevailed. "In the morning. Let’s get a good night’s rest and then we’ll head out. And this time we’ll be heading for Moira."
Honesty compelled him to admit that what they’d actually be heading for was Moira’s cloak. There was no guarantee Moira would still be with it. He tried very hard to push that thought out of his mind.
They moved out the next morning in good order and somber spirits. Once again Malkin led the way and Wiz followed, staff at the ready. His senses were alert but his mind was elsewhere. Malkin was right. The defenses of this place didn’t make any sense in the real world. They made sense in terms of a fantasy role-playing game, but there weren’t any fantasy role-playing games here. The only people in this World now who knew about such things were Danny, Jerry and himself. There had been Craig and Mikey, two computer crackers who had come to this World and hooked up with the forces of primal chaos. But Craig was dead and Mikey was a mindless husk held under tight guard at the Wizards’ Keep. So where had the idea come from?
Damn, he thought for about the thousandth time, I wish we knew what we are fighting.
"Well," E.T. Tajikawa said, "there’s your weapon."
On the table sat a golden globe about the size of a softball.
"Behold the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch," Taj said with a sweeping gesture.
"It’s what you might call an anti-takeover device-a poison pill."
"You intend to poison the Enemy?" Bal-Simba asked.
"Actually we’re going to hand him a retrovirus and he’s going to do a number on himself."
Both Bal-Simba and Jerry waited for him to continue.
"It started with those indeterminate instructions, the ones you call I’ll Do As I Damn Well Please, IDAIDWP."
His audience looked apprehensive. "Go on," the big wizard said slowly."
"Okay, first I divided them into two categories: Regular IDAIDWP and FU-IDAIDWP."
"Foo ida id wip?" Jerry asked.
"Eff you ida id wip," Taj corrected. "What you might call IDAIDWP with an attitude. Anyway, I rolled the FU-IDAIDWPs into the nastiest package I could dream up, added some interface code to make it easy for the Enemy to absorb and wrapped it in the prettiest package I could find." He gestured. "Viola."
"That’s voila."
Taj gave him his satanic grin. "Not the way I play it."
Taj looked at Jerry. "Okay, you say this thing’s instinct is to absorb whatever’s tossed at it."
"Well, humans that attack it, anyway."
"Close enough. Essentially what this thing does is to insert a sequence with a bunch of indeterminate instructions into the thing’s code. You feed it to The Blob out there and the critter self-destructs."
"Nasty," Jerry said. "I like it." He paused. "What’s the downside?" Taj pursed his lips. "Well, there is one tiring that might be a problem. It’s got to be absorbed all at once so we’ve got to get pretty close to make it work"
"How close?"
"For immediate effect? About hand grenade range."
For a minute no one said anything. "So we’ve got to jump down this thing’s throat, right?"
Taj shrugged. "If you want it to work right away and if you want to be sure you get the main bad guy"
No one said anything. There’s another problem," Taj added helpfully. This things been bred to learn quick. If you don’t make it the first time it will be a whole lot harder the next time." He paused and looked hard at them. "Basically I’d say we’ve got one shot at this."
Another pause. "I believe," said Bal-Simba, "this is what Charlie would call a sporty proposition."
NINETEEN
OPERATIONAL PLAN
With the weapon came the stirrings of a plan. Soon the Wizards’ Keep was abuzz with preparations. Since the Watchers were still unable to establish communication with Wiz and his party, the first order of business was to combine an attack on the Enemy with a rescue operation. In his or her own way everyone readied themselves for what was to come.
"So this is what the enemy stronghold looks like?" Kuznetsov asked Jerry as they walked down the stonewalled tunnel.
"Something like this. Only smaller and not as neat."
The Russian sized up the space with the professional interest of an engineer who had been given the job of building the place-or a sapper who had the job of blowing it up.
Kuznetsov had wanted to see what the "battlefield" would look like. The closest thing Jerry could come up with was the cellars and storerooms under the Wizar
ds’ Keep. It wasn’t that close to the tunnels beneath the City of Night, but Kuznetsov assured him it would help.
"Now there’re a lot more levels and twists and turns," Jerry added as Kuznetsov knelt down to examine the way the stones fit. He produced a knife and scratched at the space between the rocks, held the scrapings to his nose and sniffed them.
"But just this mortar? No concrete?"
Jerry thought for an instant. "I’ve never seen concrete in this World." Kuznetsov grunted, stood up, and then said something quickly to Vasily. The other Russian nodded and set off down the tunnel.
"And these lamps." Kuznetsov indicated the magic glow light that floated above their head. This is standard illumination?"
"Yeah. What’s Vasily doing?"
"We are seeing how close enemy can get before we see him. This is very important in urban combat."
"This isn’t exactly a city."
Kuznetsov grinned. "I believe your saying is ’Close enough for government work.’
" He looked down the tunnel and motioned to his partner. Peering out past the edges of the light, Jerry couldn’t see him, but apparently Kuznetsov could.
"Now he comes back hiding behind cover and in shadows," Kuznetsov said without taking his eyes off the tunnel. "The way an enemy would approach."
By straining his eyes Jerry thought he could detect an occasional flicker of movement down the corridor. Finally, when Vasily was almost on them he caught a glimpse of him sidling along a wall and whipping into an open storeroom.
"He’s really good."
"He was a specialist," Kuznetsov said, and smiled as if he had made a joke. There was an explosion of Russian from the storeroom and Vasily came charging out with no attempt to hide.
He pointed back to the room and spat out something long and complicated in Russian.
Kuznetsov whistled. "Da shto ve gavorete?"
"Po Pravda!" Vasily confirmed.
"What was that about?’ Jerry asked.
The Russian looked at Jerry strangely. "Let us say we just discovered that our paths have crossed before, indirectly. You might even say that you are the ones who got us started in our present line of work." He waved away Jerry’s frown.
"Never mind. It was another time and another country."
The Russians were silent as they climbed the stairs from the cellar. They declined Jerry’s offer of a warming drink.
"Comrade Major, do you realize what this means?" Vasily hissed in Russian as soon as Jerry turned the corner.
"It means we have solved another mystery my friend. Now we know how the computer disappeared from the airplane."
Kuznetsov sighed and grinned. "It takes you back, does it not, to the days when the world was young, our hearts were pure and there was no problem in human relations which could not be solved by the application of sufficient quantities of high explosive?"
He sighed once more. "Life was so much simpler then."
"Complexity?" Bal-Simba echoed in bewilderment.
"Complexity," Taj repeated with a satanic grin. The weakness of all centralized systems is that they cannot handle complexity beyond a certain level."
"And you are certain of this?"
He spread his hands. "It’s inherent in the state equations. If we wanna give this boy indigestion we start by giving him a nervous breakdown."
"What in the world are you doing?" Jerry asked as he walked into the workroom.
"Origami," Taj said cheerfully. "Great way to relax."
Jerry looked over the collection of cranes and other creatures scattered over the benchtop.
"Parchment’s kind of scarce. We can’t waste it on stuff like that."
"Oh, it’s not a waste," Taj said cheerfully. Then he held up his latest creation. "See, here’s a dragon."
Jerry looked past the long-necked shape at the litter of parchment scraps on the table. "It’s still not a very good use for parchment."
Taj smiled evilly. "Wanna bet?"
The rhythmic scrape-scrape-scrape told Gilligan that Vasily was sharpening something. When he got close he saw it wasn’t a knife or a sword. It was a small shovel with a two-foot handle. An entrenching tool in fact
"Where’d you find that?"
"Castle smith made it for me," the Russian told him. He laid the stone aside and sighted down the shovel blade, turning it slightly so the light struck the edge.
"Almost ready now."
"Going to dig your way out of trouble?"
In a single cat-like motion Vasily twisted and hurled the entrenching tool overhand. It flew end-over-end and buried itself in a post twenty feet away with a twang. The shovel stuck there with its handle vibrating from the force of the impact.
"Good for digging, too," The Russian said. Then he walked over and wrenched the blade out of the timber.
Gilligan nodded. "Where’s Kuznetsov?"
Vasily inspected the edge of the blade critically. "With the big wizard," he said without looking up.
Gilligan himself had spent a good part of the time trying to figure out how he could get into the battle. As a pilot with nearly two thousand hours in Air Force fighters he felt supremely confident. Unfortunately, riding a dragon takes a different skill set than flying an F-15.
Besides which, the dragons didn’t like him. Every time he entered the aerie he was greeted by growls and roars from the monsters. Gilligan suspected that Stigi had been talking. Karin said that was impossible, but Gilligan knew better. Of course planning was the major form of preparation.
"It is in our favor that nothing has tried strongly to breach the physical barriers," Bal-Simba told the group assembled in his work room. "The Enemy has not had the opportunity to learn how to defend against it."
"It seems to have put up defenses enough," Dragon Leader remarked as he studied the magical map showing the known patrol routes from the City of Night
"We think that’s more reflex than planning," Jerry said "If you’ll notice these tracks pretty much match the Dark League’s patrolling when they controlled the city. But circumstances have changed and that leaves holes here," he said as he stabbed a finger onto the map, "here and especially to the south."
"What’s more, they’re not flying smart," Gilligan said, "at least not from what the Watchers have seen."
"We have not been allowed to test these fliers yet." There was a note of reproach in Dragon Leader’s voice.
"That will come soon enough," Bal-Simba told him. "Meanwhile we do not want to, ah, ’tip our fingers.’ "
"That’s tip our hand," Jerry corrected "Yeah, we want them dumb when we hit them."
Bal-Simba caught his air group commander’s expression. "Never fear, you will have the opportunity to test them very soon, but under controlled conditions."
"Meanwhile," Jerry said, "the basic plan for the main attack will be to lure him out over the Freshened Sea with a dummy strike and then hit from another direction."
"Bakka Valley," Gilligan said.
Kuznetsov nodded. "Koyuechno. We spoof them to show themselves and then the second wave eliminates them."
Dragon Leader nodded "We can expect most of their air power to be drawn north, but that still leaves their ground defenses plus whatever they hold back for point defense."
"Well, there’s a trick we used on the second Schweinfurt raid," Charlie said. Gilligan did a quick calculation and gave Charlie a hard look.
The older man caught it. "Okay," he amended. "Someone used it when the Eighth hit Schweinfurt the second time."
Dragon Leader ignored the byplay. There is still the problem of the inner defenses."
"We may just have to fight our way through those," Bal-Simba said. "Expensive, I know."
"Maybe we can come up with something as we go along," Jerry added.
Dragon Leader looked thoughtfully at the map.
TWENTY
SKY ZOMBIES
Well, Dragon Leader thought, at least the rain has stopped. Not that much of an improvement. The air was clammy with m
oisture and the cold and damp seeped into everything. There were no warming spells which might give them away to the enemy they sought so carefully.
Dragon Leader pulled his inner flying cloak closer about him, breathing in the odor of lanolin as he drew air through the thick wool to try to keep out the cold. Behind him nearly a full squadron of the North’s dragon cavalry spread out in stepped formation. It was no comfort to him to know the riders were all as miserable as he was.
Somewhere ahead of them lay-what? The forces of the Enemy. Probably other dragon cavalry, so the Watchers said, but his job was to find out for certain. His other job was to be cautious in doing it. Well enough, this wasn’t the time for open battle if it could be avoided, and he and his troop would go carefully. He scanned the sky ahead, eyes always moving, looking off the center of his vision to catch any movement. Not that he could see far. The wan winter sun was nearly at its zenith, but below them was a solid gray mass of fog-like cloud, tinged with rainbow where the sun caught it right.
Dragon Leader shifted uneasily in his saddle. He didn’t like this at all. Fighting in clouds was bad business and according to the Watchers their quarry preferred clouds and darkness to light. That was odd, but not unknown. Dragons, being sight hunters, preferred to fly by day. Just one more peculiarity to weigh upon him.
"Dragon Leader," came a voice in his ear. "Dragon Leader, we have your target at widdershins low. Range about three leagues." Dragon Leader did not break communications silence to acknowledge the message. Instead he rose in his stirrups and signaled his squadron into attack formation. The less magic used now the harder it would be for the enemy to detect them.
Behind him the squadron tightened up and sorted itself out into pairs and simultaneously into a box formation. Almost, Dragon Leader nodded approval. Weeks of hard drill had paid off. The movement was as smooth and precise as any veteran squadron during the long war against the Dark League. The dragons were carefully spaced to provide the maximum amount of maneuvering room consistent with interlocking fields of fire. Dragon Leader reached behind him in the saddle and drew his great bow from its scabbard. Then he selected an iron death arrow from the quiver by his right knee and fitted ft loosely to the string. With a practiced motion of the right hand he pulled the straps securing him to the saddle tight, but not too tight. Then he turned his full attention to scouting ahead.
