“How big will these food baskets be and what will be in them?” Oman asked. He swallowed hard as he waited for the answer.
“Bacon and eggs. Fresh bread. Cheese,” Ryan said. “How does that sound?”
Oman nodded enthusiastically. “My apologies. I seem to be afflicted with an attack of salvation.”
“Then I will be on my way with Esmeralda and Arnold,” Ryan said.
Oman stiffened. “Your fiancé has decided to remain with us until this crisis is resolved.”
Ryan clenched both of his fists but kept them down to his side. “That’s unacceptable.”
“Are we still negotiating, then?”
Ryan nodded. “If you want me to save your people from starvation, I require one more thing.”
Oman waited.
Ryan stood to leave, wondering how far Sergeant Yondel and his security robots would allow him to move.
“Wait. Name your price,” Oman said.
Ryan turned slowly and stared at the man who was still seated. “As I said before, I require free passage to and from your level for both me and my fiancé. Furthermore, I require an apartment to be maintained to our specifications.”
Oman look surprised. “You want to live here in this dark place?”
“Is it nothing but darkness on this level? Surely you have something to offer us,” Ryan said. “Help me fix the Funeral Lift for Ascension, and I will bring three baskets of food. From there we will build cooperation between our people.”
* * *
Ryan refused to look back at the elevator shaft as he walked toward his cottage. The maintenance robots that Oman sent had fixed the lift in minutes. That was when he began to doubt himself. How could he possibly stand against people with such advanced technology?
He went to the wolf head camp. A pair of centuries blocked his progress.
“I need to speak with Cannon regarding a matter of great importance,” he said.
“Our chief does not grant private audiences,” one of the guards said.
“It is regarding the funeral of his son-in-law. I must speak to him in private, and it must be to him now.”
The guard who had not spoken, turned and went into the camp to find cannon. The other escorted him to the Chiefs private tent.
He waited inside until Cannon arrived. The man looked older and tired.
“What do you want, Manager?” Cannon asked. “My in-laws are difficult people. The sooner this is done with, the better. Tell me you have fixed the Funeral Lift for Ascension.”
“It has been fixed. Everything is in order for the most grand and regal ceremony we have seen for ages.”
Cannon waved away his words. “You don’t need to impress me or anyone else. We are truly alone in my tent. I don’t even allow my wives in here. Not this tent. Just tell me what you want.”
“There has been a change, a small thing I require of you and the other clans,” Ryan said.
“I have no influence over the other clans.”
“You must negotiate with them and make peace. Then you must stand united in all of your most regal war gear as I perform the ceremony.”
Cannon snorted.
“Everything is about to change. You won’t have time to fight with the other clans,” Ryan said.
“What are you talking about?” Cannon shifted uneasily on his couch of pillows, a bottle of mead forgotten in his left hand.
“What would happen if your people were starving and you found a granary?
Cannon laughed. “How could my people starve? Food is everywhere. Wolfheads don’t fight for scraps. We fight for honor.”
Ryan looked at his hands. This was harder than he expected.
Cannon rose to his feet and crossed the tent floor, placing a massive hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “I see you are upset. My warriors will stand in all their best war regalia. The Boarheads will try to best us. I can’t promise or predict what Hawkwing will do.”
“We will also need three baskets of food,” Ryan said. “The fate of our world depends on fresh bread.”
“You are more melodramatic than my wives,” Cannon said.
“I went up the lift and saw another realm. They think this is food,” Ryan said, tossing the half-empty tube of protein paste at Cannon’s feet.
The big warrior picked it up and studied it in silence for a long time. “So it is war between realms. I never thought I would see this day in my life time.”
“I will negotiate. If that fails, I will need your best warriors to help me rescue Esmerelda from their stronghold above the Funeral Lift for Ascension.”
* * *
Ryan completed the ceremony as a gentle breeze ruffled the war banners of every clan, large and small, in the known world. Cannon stood nearest the Funeral Lift for Ascension. The chief of Boarhead and Hawkwing clans waited silently. Ryan wondered what Cannon had told them.
Sergeant Yondel and a squad of his security force watched from the shadows inside elevator shaft.
Ryan placed three baskets of food inside. He spoke loudly, directing his words at the silent observers in the elevator shaft and the spectators behind him. “Let this humble offering of food send the spirit of Kendrick-Wolfhead-Foxtrot into Ascension so that his body may fuel the soil of many harvests.”
Standing in the shadows, Sergeant Yondel stared into his eyes. “You could rule both worlds with the power of your station.” He didn’t sound happy.
“I know. Please make sure no harm comes to Esmerelda. I will see her soon, one way or another.”
He closed the door with a seemingly magical wave of his hand, just as he had many times in the past.
Scott Moon
Scott Moon started reading and writing science fiction and fantasy at an early age. He spent several summers of all night Advanced Dungeons and Dragons gaming before joining his first garage band and running off to Hollywood, CA to attend the Musician’s Institute. Always a dreamer, it was the writing muse that always screamed loudest. Years later he is still writing, still dreaming, and connecting with authors and readers through the Keystroke Medium YouTube show and Podcast (www.keystrokemedium.com). Examples of his speculative fiction projects include The Chronicles of Kin Roland (military science fiction / adventure) and the Son of a Dragonslayer trilogy (urban fantasy / horror / adventure) available in different formats on Amazon and other fine distributors. Scottt Moon is also co-writing a series called Darklanding with Craig Martelle, a Firefly meets Tombstone series with twelve episodes.
The Minstrel
By Bill Patterson
Fordice closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He could see the luminous lines of script on the darkness of his eyelids. The AI wanted him to take up his zither and sing for his supper once more. He negotiated a morning departure—he hated walking throughout the corridors of the Warden during the night hours.
He opened his eyes and looked to the trunk at the foot of his bed. He got up, flipped open the lid, and extracted the various tools and supplies stored inside. A fine-grained stone, well impregnated with vegetable oil, set in a wooden carrying box was the first item on his workbench. He picked up one of his working knives, sighted along the edge, and drew the knife along the stone, honing the edge.
“Going somewhere, Minstrel?”
He turned from his work to spy a short, thin form in his doorway.
“Come in, Awain. Yes, yes, I am.”
“Don’t you like it here?” asked the boy, no more than nine. “If I’m bothering you…”
“No, I like it here just fine. That’s the problem.”
Awain scratched his head. “I don’t get it. If you like it here, why are you leaving?”
“It’s because I like it here,” said Fordice. Let’s see if he figures it out on his own.
Awain walked towards the workbench. He quietly watched Fordice sharpen his knife.
“See, you look along the edge of the knife to see what needs the work,” said Fordice. “See how this knife has those two thin shiny bands al
ong the edge, one on each side of the point? Now take a look at this one,” he said, handing him a knife in dire need of sharpening. “See how the bands are all wavy, and the edge seems to curl over right about here?”
Awain looked and pointed out nicks on the blades.
“Very good. Those are exactly where I need to sharpen. Never go into battle with weapons maintained by others. Always be sure of such things yourself.” But you have to trust others sometimes, like I am trusting the AI.
“I understand, Minstrel,” said Awain. “Simple minstrels don’t need weapons of war, but you have them anyway. You love this place, but you have to leave because you love this place. You are going out to protect our village, to see if there are any signs of Wolfies, aren’t you? That’s why you’re carrying weapons, isn’t it?”
Fordice smiled slightly on the outside, but on the inside, he was grinning maniacally. Awain was a sharp one. “Exactly right, Awain. Someone has to be the early warning force. As a minstrel, I can talk with the others, find out if the Wolfies are getting too close, and alert the village.”
“If you find Wolfies, and you get captured or killed, then how will the village find out?”
Ah, the very nub! “That is why I carry so many weapons, Awain. I don’t want to be captured or killed.”
“I could come with you. I could run back here and alert the others.” Awain’s eyes were clear and strong, but there was fear behind them, as a small, involuntary movement of the pupils
Fordice sighed. “Not today, Awain. Oh, you’re brave enough. But you’re not quite old enough to do all that I would require of you. This trip I must make alone. Promise that you won’t try to follow me.”
Awain tried to hide his disappointment, but his lip quivered anyway. Fordice reached over and tousled his hair. “I promise,” said the boy after a bit.
“Good. It’s probably not dangerous, except when it is, and then, it’s frighteningly dangerous. I don’t want to have to look after you as well as me at those times. If it’s any consolation, I’m not getting any younger, and at some point, I’m going to have to have an assistant. Today, though, is not the time. Understand?”
“I understand,” said the young boy. “Should I tell the others?”
“No. I’ll let them know quietly. I don’t want a big sendoff. Our secret?” asked Fordice.
“Promise. Can I help you get ready?”
Fordice smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
And thus a squire is born. But does that make me a knight? If so, who is my sovereign? A computer program?
***
The direct route is seldom the best. Young Awain is perceptive, I should be doing recon for my people as well.
Fordice put a camouflage coverall over his motley as soon as he was out of sight from his home village. The sendoff was quiet and discreet. He told the elders, of course, as well as the guards. He certainly didn’t want to get attacked on his way back into his village. A ghost of a smile flitted across Fordice’s face. The village defenses were superior to any Wolfie band, particularly after the AI gave him some hints on how to upgrade them five years ago. There was no way he would be able to slip back into the village without detection.
He carefully moved among the landscape. The vast, echoing, steel caverns were bad enough, with their lack of cover and incomprehensible machinery, but the choking jungles that filled other caverns held dangers all their own. The plants were subtly different with each trip, under the pressure of constant mutation and the competition for soil and light. A vine that you casually moved with your hand five years before could now wrap around your arm and exert a surprising pull back to the main stem. Fordice parted the greenery slowly and carefully with a series of sticks retrieved as deadfall.
Always, he kept his senses on high alert against the Wolfie packs. At night, he occasionally heard their howls in the dimness as they called to each other. It never failed to raise the hackles on the back of his neck. He was still in somewhat known territory, but there was no guarantee that the village that you visited six months ago was still populated, still a going concern. Wolfie attacks were sudden, relentless, and deadly.
Finally, he approached the outer edges of the next village of Kathmanier, and slipped off his camouflage coverall to reveal his colorful motley underneath. Retrieving his zither from its leather carrying case, he tuned up the fine instrument and strummed a tune as he walked down the road to the collection of huts in the distance.
Frankie was a bold one
All muscles and mouth
He set off to win the fair Connie
And disappeared in the South
Connie was a fine one
Soft in bed; hard to the core
She knew she had Frankie
But wanted another man more
Gus was a scholarly one
Knowledge his forte
He held his own in a fight
Knew he’d fight Frankie one day
Connie hoped Frankie would plotz
Among the wild ones in the South
And she’d have Gus the scholar
To dominate with her mouth
Then Frankie came home with a gift
The finest mounted Wolfie head
Connie was appalled; Gus was delighted
And offered them a night in his bed.
Gus left them alone
In his house and kitchen and bed
He knew Connie was a pain
And he liked Ginny instead.
“Hail!” called the sentry on the road to Kathmanier.
“Hail,” said Fordice. “Let the elders know the Minstrel has come once more.”
Kathmanier welcomed Fordice with an impromptu feast and evening of entertainment, where he was the star attraction. Later, when most of the population drifted away to their huts, Fordice huddled with the elders and the head of the sentries, discussing Wolfies.
“It’s been three years since the last attack,” said Kapen, the chief elder. “But we hear them at night, so we know they are around.”
“How fare the neighboring villages?” asked Fordice.
“The villages around ours are secure. But beyond that, chaos. The Wolfies roam at will.”
“That’s a bad sign,” said Fordice. “When they finish with the villages beyond, they’ll be driven to attack us.”
“Why us? Aren’t there villages beyond? Minstrel, you travel widely. Aren’t there villages throughout the Great Deck they could attack?”
“No, Kapen. The Great Deck is not limitless. As far as I could tell, we’re towards the back third of the deck. The Wolfies are against the back wall, and we’re in between them and all the villages beyond.”
“So they have to go through us,” said Kapen. “Can’t we push them to the back wall and kill them once and for all?”
Fordice shook his head sadly. “I have heard that there are great openings at the back wall that sometimes allow for passage from Deck to Deck. The Wolfies can use them, but at great cost. Otherwise, they would have gone around us to get to the fat villages beyond us long ago.”
“So it’s war,” said Soheme, the head of the sentries. “How do we do this, Minstrel? You seem to know something about these things.”
Fordice looked from one face to the other. Yes, they were relying on him to help them. He realized suddenly that he was indeed a knight, not a mere minstrel.
“Have any villages between us and the Wolfies been attacked yet?”
“No, Minstrel,” said Soheme. “The last contact with the Wolfies was nearly four months ago.”
“I need more information,” said the Minstrel. “I must go further towards the Wolfie. I must leave Kathmanier.”
“Spend a day with us and rest for the journey ahead,” said Kapen. “I will send runners ahead to spread the word. We must also assemble the available fighters for you.”
Fordice, suddenly weary from his busy day, agreed.
Maient, Werthe, Apeiire, village after village was alerted, and in turn
, alerted others. Fordice moved forward, but left the fighters at their own village. He realized that an army, once assembled, would overwhelm any village’s resources, and therefore left them at home, but ready to travel.
He remained as far forward as he dared, collecting intelligence on the location and habits of the Wolfie bands. They remained forces of nature. They had cunning and intelligence and great bravery, but they were devolved humans, and would always be inferior in a pitched battle with a dedicated force. It was up to Fordice to assemble and train that dedicated force.
All the while, the overarching mission ground at Fordice. He had to get to the rear of the Warden and make critical ship repairs and observations. The Wolfie infestation lay directly across his path. It was either defeat the Wolfies in pitched battle, or be forced to sneak through enemy territory to his objective, and again to return home.
“Minstrel, we have new information on the Wolfies.”
“Minstrel, the village of Noiebeck asks to join the Alliance.”
“Minstrel, a matter of discipline.”
“Minstrel, some of the villages do not want to train others in their weapons. They don’t want to lose their advantage.”
Minstrel, minstrel, minstrel, day after day. Problems great and small waited him the instant his eyes opened until the time he closed them. He wondered how the AI knew that his appearance would trigger this phenomenon, when it never had before. For twenty years, he had wandered the Great Deck on the orders of his AI, and the peoples had never placed their defense in his hands before. Was there some great pressure that was forcing the issue this time? Fordice had no way of knowing, and he was a long way from any known working terminal for his AI for him to ask the question. He would just have to muddle through as best as he could.
He did have one advantage, however. When he was younger, and could more easily disappear from other humans, he once spent a full year huddled at a different terminal with the AI, and read widely in military history and tactics. The weapons sounded magical—mechanical slug throwers that would fill the air with chunks of metal travelling at thousands of miles per hour. He shuddered to think of the damage that such machines would do to the metal of the Great Deck.
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