by Garon Whited
The head formed the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond it, the dragon’s scaly neck ascended to the rim of the palace courtyard. As it ascended, the exterior lost the draconic qualities and became simply a glassy-smooth tube. Inside, it remained mostly circular, slightly taller than it was wide, with a flat, rough floor and smooth walls. There was a slight but constant current of air ascending through the tunnel. While the only light was from the ends, I still wouldn’t want to spend a sunrise there. The middle wouldn’t actually be in darkness, but it would be deeply, deeply shadowed.
It didn’t look well-traveled.
Once in the palace regions, Bronze returned to her coal mining, happily crunching away, while I found Mary. She was already dressed, packed, and ready to go. Her boots stood out. They were clearly part of the tactical outfit under her clothes. The clothes, on the other hand, were odd for Rethven, but probably acceptable in the late 2040’s in France. Come to think of it, for all I know the boots were, too. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, sizable for a purse, about the low end of carry-on luggage. I didn’t see any knives or guns, which was a good thing. I had no doubt they were present.
We went to my upper gate room. She shut the door and grabbed me by the shirt.
“Just to be clear on this, you’re sending me off to do your dirty work and I know it.”
“Um. Yes?” I agreed.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you’re doing this because you need me to do it, not because you want me out of the way while you do something dangerous and fun.”
“I need you to do this so I can have a chance to grab Johann by the balls and squeeze them until his eyes explode.”
“It doesn’t work like that. I know.”
“I remember an incident in the barn. Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
“Don’t change the subject. You’re sending me away because you legitimately need my help, and this is the best possible use of my talents? Or are you hogging all the fun and danger for yourself?”
“Well, you’re the only person who can do this. I need it to be you, in particular, for that reason. No one else is going cope with the society. They’re not even going to speak a language anyone recognizes, much less uses to communicate.”
“Okay.” She let go of my shirt and brushed at the wrinkles. “Promise?”
“I promise. When this is over and Johann is suitably crushed into a formless pile, we’ll spend a night together, just you and me.”
“I’d rather spend a day together,” she replied, leering.
“But your nervous system is much more responsive at night.”
“Well, yes, but—Wait a second. Do you mean to tell me we could have been having sex at night?” she demanded.
“No. Blood flow is a vital component for my performance. But there are variations which do not require the fundamentals.” I leered back at her. “If we can’t sing together, I can at least play you like an instrument while you sing—with an ultra-responsive nervous system, to boot.”
“I’ve been an undead for a while. It’s never worked before.”
“And now you’re a different species,” I pointed out. She threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes.
“You’re only getting around to telling me now?”
“You wouldn’t have let me leave the bedroom. Ever.”
“I am going to kill you,” she promised. “Slowly. And I’m going to enjoy it. You will, too.”
“I don’t doubt it, but please, please not today. Got all your gear sorted out?”
“Yes.”
“Address card? Letter of introduction?”
Mary opened her handbag and fished out both.
“One-fifty-two Chemin des Vendanges, Avignon, Provence-Alpes-Cote d’Azur.” She looked up from the card at me. “Are you sure about the address?”
“It was the return address on the letter they handed me. It’s a place to start, at least. Figured out where we’re going to rendezvous?”
“Four possible spots,” she told me. “It took me a while to decide, but it’s my world and I know best, right?” She handed me letter, sealed with wax. I accepted it cautiously.
“Yes,” I agreed, hesitantly. “I suppose so. Where, exactly—” I began, but she cut me off.
“I may be able to leave you a hidden phone number,” she added. “Scan around for magical glyphs when you get there. Or I could have my number listed on the cybernet and you can look me up.”
“Please don’t have a public number. I’d like us to avoid all possible notice if at all possible.”
“I’m not sure that’s grammatically correct.”
“But it’s accurate. Now, remember. Once you get through, get away from the gate opening and blend in quickly. You’re shielded from direct magical observation, but Johann or other magi may detect the gate. If they simply look at the area, they can see you. I don’t think they can scan you—you won’t show up on mystic radar—but eyeballs are eyeballs.”
“If they do eyeball the area, any idea how long I’ll have?”
“I doubt they monitor this sort of thing in shifts. Even if they have a spell to monitor the whole planet, it probably just sounds an alarm. If it automatically attempts to counter a gate, I’ll be able to tell before you go through.”
“So, best case, they’re busy elsewhere and don’t even notice my arrival. Worst case, I’m kicking in the front door and hurrying through the house to find a hiding spot before the owner shows up with a gun.”
“That’s not a bad description,” I admitted. “I’ve got a number of decoys ready, too.”
“Decoys?”
“I don’t know how small a gate I can open, but, as far as I can tell, there’s a direct correlation between size and power. If I make it small enough, it doesn’t cost much power. So, if I make a couple dozen or so pinprick-sized holes in the universe, any gate alarms will register multiple hits and force them to divide their attention.
“But won’t they notice one is bigger than the others?”
“Maybe. Thing is, detecting an interdimensional portal is one thing. Detecting the size of it is a different thing entirely. Different systems of detection. It isn’t impossible to put a penetration alarm on the planet, especially with the level of power they possess. Also determining the size of the hole is a higher-order level of complexity. The simple fact of detection would be enough to let them know I was on my way.”
“Assuming they’re worried about it at all,” Mary agreed.
“Right. Hence, a couple dozen pinpricks. Imagine a global map lighting up in twenty places at once. Where do you start?”
Mary nodded, thoughtfully.
“I might live through this.”
“I certainly hope so!”
“Then kiss me and open the gates.” She limbered up a little, shook out her hands, and popped her neck. She settled into a half-crouch, prepared to spring through the archway.
As for me, I focused on a number of places, one at a time. I called up my memory of my basement workroom, in the Ardents’ old farmhouse, and used it as a navigation point. That’s the world I want. The tunnel we gated through to the parking garage in Atlantic City. The hotel where we stayed in Mexico. The empty place on Rattlesnake Pike, where my old house wasn’t. The place where a campfire flared in the desert, a communication gateway for a lady of flame. Navigation points, all unique and definite, marking out the particular world I wanted. Replicate the resonance among the spells, one greater, many lesser, like an address label on multiple envelopes. Imprint each one in the matrix of a gate spell, set it in a tiny circle of stone, no larger than the point of a pencil, and imprint the next.
Then the lesser coordinates, uncertain and almost random. The world is defined, the planet targeted, but where do you choose for a landing point? North, south, east, west, all around the world. Imprint them, make the holes in the wall whistle in the wind between the worlds, singing with the proper tone for a universe, and address them to general delivery—any old openings, scattered a
nywhere in the world, would do.
Avignon. The big one. I already marked it out in my headspace, on my memories of the globe. Zoom in, put the pin in the map, and burn it in there. Somewhere, there is a doorway about the right size. Aim for Avignon and let the portal seek it out, lock on to the nearest, most convenient opening.
Everything addressed? Yes. Power gathered in the crystals? Yes. Stamp the envelopes and send them out…
Dozens of tiny points glittered in their spell-held array around the arch. Some night, some day, but so what? It was morning here, for us, so sunlight could do us no harm.
The interior of the arch swirled away, funneled down, reached for its destination and opened, snapping the far image into congruence with the local arch. I could see a number of surprised-looking people and hear the French language. The signs I could see appeared to be in French; traffic signs were marked in kilometers. There was even an elderly man with a bag of groceries, including—how cliché! —a loaf of French bread. It appeared to be late afternoon.
“I’ll miss you,” I told her as she stepped through.
“I already miss you,” she replied, and ducked to the left, out of my view. The gate image shredded, dissolved, and disappeared. The tiny gates around it closed with it, winking out like stars in the dawn.
Everything went perfectly. Why do I feel as though the morning is off to a terrible start?
Seldar met me for breakfast. While I attempted to fake an appetite—successfully; my stomach is practically a garbage disposal—he told me how things were going.
“The army,” he began, “appears to be retreating toward Baret. For some reason, they seem to be unwilling to continue through the mountains.”
“Odd.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” he asked, one eyebrow rising.
“What else?”
“I’ve had a message from Vathula. Duke Bob has heard your request for a crown and one is being sent.”
“That’s fast. Did he have one lying around?”
“You know, I asked the elf in the mirror that very question? Worded slightly differently, of course.”
“Of course.”
“It would seem Keria once wore a crown. It has not been worn since her demise, but the Duke assures me it will serve you well.”
“I’m mildly concerned about appearances, but maybe elvish workmanship can make up for sinister and forbidding. I’m also wondering what sort of enchantments it has on it.”
“I will have it brought to you as soon as it arrives, Sire.”
“Okay. No, on second thought, have Bob bring it to me when he arrives. Call them back and let them know I’d like the Duke to deliver it personally.”
“Consider it done,” Seldar said, and made a note. “There are also a number of personal requests for your attention, Sire.”
“Such as?”
“For one thing, there are many wizards who wish to swear their personal loyalty to the true King of Karvalen.”
“Interesting. Why do you think they’re doing it?”
“I see three major reasons. First, they are traitors seeking to worm their way into your sphere of influence. Second, they are aware of traitors in the guild of wizards and wish to gain position with you before betraying their former masters. Or, finally, they are exactly what they claim to be—loyal subjects wishing to enlist directly in your service.”
“Those exist?”
Seldar looked at me with a reproving expression.
“Yes, O Fearsome Bloodsucker. More than you seem to think. But I would not count on these wizards being in the third category.”
“I’ll look at them tonight and see if they believe it when they swear to me. What else?”
“There are already a dozen or more individuals awaiting their… departure.”
“Also tonight. Can we set things up separately? I’d rather not have a bunch of wizards gawking at the dying. It’s impolite. Undignified.”
“Dantos will organize it, Sire. He is remarkable. I am not certain he would make a good governor, but he excels at carrying out orders.”
“How do you mean?”
“I do not have a firm grasp of his opinions and beliefs in regard to making policy, but he does motivate people to accomplish their tasks in an organized fashion.”
“Good. I like him. He strikes me as competent and loyal. I’d like to keep him happy, if we can.”
“I’ll see if there is anything he wants and do my best to give it to him, Master of Generosity.”
“I’d almost rather you stuck to ‘Sire,’” I complained.
“If you wish to order it so, Inconsistent One.”
“Or maybe I’ll ignore it,” I decided. “What else?”
“There are also several… soldiers? Fighters? Men at arms who wish to become knights.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
Seldar hesitated, marshalling his thoughts.
“Sire, are you familiar with the current knights of the kingdom?”
“Not really. I know my original guys, of course, and they’ve gone back to wearing the red sash, right?”
“They have.”
“I can pick out the Temple of Shadow troops by their smaller size and the grey sashes. I understand they’ve been knighted by other knights?”
“Nominated,” Seldar corrected, “then approved and knighted by Lord Beltar, yes. You may wish to inspect them yourself, Sire.”
“Or I may want to keep farming it out to people,” I mused. “Anyway, the other knights? You were saying?”
“Your predecessor was willing to knight anyone with sufficient skill with weapons, rather than select individuals with the willingness to follow a proper moral code.”
“I heard something about it, yes.”
“These new men—not from the Temple of Shadow—are mercenaries, Sire.”
“Then what do they want to be knighted for?”
“An enchanted sword? The black armor of night? Better pay than they might otherwise get, even in a war? Respect? Authority? The list goes on.”
“And some of them may be willing to double-cross us if they get the chance?”
“That, too, Sire. Some may already be in the pay of Thomen or Lotar, directly or indirectly.”
“Well, that part is easy enough. Appoint someone to put them through their paces, run them into the ground for six weeks, and we can have a board of knights quiz the survivors on their ethical standards.”
Seldar made a note, nodding.
“Very good, Ruthless Lord. May I ask why you do not simply examine their souls in the night, as you intend to do with the wizards?”
“I’m not always going to be here to examine them,” I told him. “I’d like to set up self-sustaining systems—I’ll fail, but I’d still like it—so a noble order of knighthood and suchlike can maintain its high standards without me.”
“Ah.” Seldar made another note. “I also have Larel making a new coin die for you. The image will remain the same, but with new engraving. We should be able to start hammering out the new coins within the week.”
“Larel?”
“Kavel’s youngest, named for his forebear, I understand. He is an expert with fine work.”
“Fitting,” I agreed. “Fitting. The Larel I knew was quite a craftsman. I respected him.”
“I am told it runs in their family,” he agreed. “There are also several requests for your attention in healing. People who have already called at the Temples and upon the Guild, naturally. These are the ones forwarded us by the Temple of Shadow.”
“How does that work? Do the other temples send their rejects to us?” I asked.
“Not as such. People seek out aid from whoever they choose, but if the Guild fails, or their chosen Temple does not cure their ailment, they are forced to seek the aid of other magicians, other Temples.”
“So we’re talking about desperate people that nobody wants to help?”
“One can but assume, Sire. It is often the case their ailmen
t remains because they cannot afford to have it cured. A wizard of magician has a cash price, but the Temples require offerings, as well. Crying for mercy from the King is often the last resort.”
“This being king thing is really starting to get on my nerves.”
“If the job was easy, you could give it to anyone,” he pointed out, “and without all the fuss of stabilizing the realm beforehand.”
“There you go, being wise again.”
“Someone must, Oh Most Illustrious Idiot.”
“Ouch. Okay, have Dantos schedule preliminary diagnosis for them after the wizards and the dying. It’ll be a busy night.”
“Very good, Sire. I also have an idea about the throne,” he added. I paused with another forkful of something halfway to my mouth.
“I didn’t know it needed ideas,” I observed, mildly. “I should add a cushion?”
“Probably. But who sits on it? Lissette, at present, yes?”
“Oh, I thought you meant the dragon head in the great hall. Sorry. Yes, Lissette sits on the kingdom-throne, wears the crown, is in charge, whatever.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“It’s your duty to advise me, even if your advice is silly. I’d say that counts as permission to suggest.”
“Your concern, at present, is with Thomen’s influence on Her Majesty. Correct?”
“Yes,” I admitted, accidentally bending the metal fork in my grip. Oops. I straightened it out while Seldar continued.
“Perhaps we could remove his influence.”
“I’m listening,” I told him, still fixing the fork. “Go on.”
“If we can divert Thomen to another task—say, with some sort of trouble at the guildhall in Carrillon—then we might have a window of opportunity. We could remove from Lissette any magical influences which may be upon her. With those canceled out, she could then decide for herself what she wishes to do. If her preference is to summon Thomen immediately and place herself under his care again…” he trailed off
“…then she’s really suffering and he’s helping, regardless of whatever else he’s doing,” I finished.
“Yes. If his actions are purely an attempt to usurp the throne, I know what to do with him. If he is only attempting to be a good physician to the Queen, I know what to do with him. If he is both, however, I am at a loss. What do you wish done if he is using his legitimate position and necessary duties to worm his way into the Queen’s graces?”
