by Pam Uphoff
Notcher, the man in deep red, shifted his hard stare from Inso to Lon, looked him up and down, and switched back to Inso. Collier, the bright red-robed senior priest didn't act as if he'd even heard.
"I see." Lon bit his lip. "And . . . do you have any idea where to start?" His eyes slid toward the black robes. He'd not heard of black robes before.
The old man followed his gaze. "They will be reporting to the ministers. Just ignore them. I have sent for scouts and horses. We will track him."
"Have you determined then, that the god did not return to Arbolia?"
"The gate guards keep meticulous records. Only five men passed through the gate. The sixth did not pass."
Lon scratched his chin. "So he used some sort of spell of concealment, here or there . . . Right." Except that stuff doesn't work on electronics. Must have been a light warp.
One of the black robes cleared his throat. "We have just arrived, with a rather inadequate briefing. I understand that a scientific mission is under suspicion?"
The ambassador scowled. "The astronomers. Their wagons were searched. And the god was gone an hour before they left the embassy building in any case." A supercilious sniff. "In any case, Lord Marius Menchuro is a very . . . What?"
The black robes had definitely reacted. They exchanged glances now.
The taller one shifted uneasily. "The God of the Sun . . . a former student of the House of Wisdom . . . three years ago had the good fortune to experience a breakthrough. What is the name of the God of the Sun? Former name."
Glowers from all the others. "We don't know things like that." One of the yellow robes glared.
The old priest straightened. "The God of the Sun is the most recently elevated God. Three years ago. What was the name of this student?"
"Warric Menchuro."
Multiple indrawn breaths.
Lon's was one of them. "So even if these scientists didn't help him escape, one of them may be helping him now." Hot Damn! That was a planned escape. I hope they have someplace to run to . . . and that Xen isn't involved. Otherwise his transdimensional organization may collapse before it sees its second birthday.
The ambassador sounded breathless and horrified. "They travel through gates, in what they call the maze. I'll get the two guards who have been through a few times with the astronomers. They will have a better idea of where they may have gone in this so-called maze." He swung and looked at Lon.
Lon nodded. "I know some of the maze. I'll get the map and . . . a horse?" He glanced up at the balcony.
Xen stepped out of the shadows and nodded. "I'll get one for you."
"Please, not one of those huge critters you consider normal?"
A flash of teeth and the wizard retreated down the hall and out of sight.
Lon watched the arguing men walk out the front door.
Inso heaved a breath behind him. "That was a scary bunch of people."
Lon grinned. "I thought so. I imagine their magic reinforced the effect? You looked ready to run for cover."
"That." Jiol's voice floated down from the other side's balcony. "Was exactly what he was ready to do."
She stepped out of the shadows, a long gun of some sort in her hands.
We need to get some better lighting. It's much too easy to hide around here. Or . . . since it's the Good Guys hiding. . . maybe I should leave it as is.
By the time he'd loaded a pack with a change of clothes, and begged canteens and food from Nighthawk, Xen was back with a sturdy black horse. Average sized, if a bit broader than most riding horses.
"This is Percy. Don't tell the priests he's got engineered genes. They'd probably try to kill him as heretical. The saddlebags are bubbles. You might want to be discreet about pulling things out of them. I loaded you with tools and food and shelter. Good luck. Watch your back."
Lon eyed the rifle sheath, strapped to the saddle so the stock was ready to hand.
"Predators. Or hunting for dinner. Whatever." Xen shrugged and walked away.
Lon scratched under the horse's jaw, and studied the Arbolians. The two black robes glanced toward Xen, then turned back to their horses. The rest of them stared at Xen until he walked back inside.
They look hungry. No wonder Xen didn't want to assign a magician to escort them around.
He mounted and led the way up Merchant's Row to the hilltop gate.
Xen's going to have to move it, conceal it, after this. Unless he likes having people getting lost, wandering around through here.
About half the priests and trainees focused on the gate as soon as it was probably in sight. No arch. Lon had to get a lot closer to spot it, and he knew where it was.
Interesting. They have dimensional abilities. I can only see it if I look carefully for a bit of grassy area that doesn't quite match up around the edges with the horizon.
The other half of the priests and both of the black robes were looking around, blankly. The scouts were looking at the ground, the faint double tracks from the two wagons that came and went every other month or so. Two days ago, in a light rain. I hope it was dry on the other side, otherwise they'll be very easy to track down.
He rode closer to Temple Priest Notcher, who was apparently of higher rank than the Senior Priest. "I don't see them through the gate, but we only get a view of a small area. On the other side there are two corridors close by that each lead to a different gate."
"I see." Notcher turned his horse and rode it through the gate, the senior priest on his heels and the rest scrambling to catch up to him.
The black robes exchanged glances, and followed. Lon brought up the rear. On the other side the scouts were pointing things out on the ground, then led the way to the southern corridor.
The black robes trailed, and Lon rode up beside them.
"So you two work for the government, not the church? I'm Lon Hackathorn. With the science and exploration section."
"I'm Prince Primus Jack and this is Prince Primus Farester. We somehow wound up working for the ministry of justice."
"So . . . I really don't understand the setup in your government. Does the lack of a last name in introductions mean that you are the King's sons?"
Two shaken heads.
Farester shrugged. "Adopted. Technically we're in the line of succession. About number six hundred, last time I checked. What it really means is that we are the sons of gods, and had the potential to become gods ourselves. The lack of a last name is because our families didn't want us."
"Unlike Warric Menchuro, whose mother's husband raised him as his own." Jack sighed. "Lord Menchuro came to his graduation, threw a party for him and paid his way through the University of Lundun."
"But we mostly were envious of the hug he got at graduation. The beaming smile."
The taller one, Jack, nodded. He looked ahead, to where the scouts were examining the ground. "I hope to hell they can't find him."
Lon sat back and Percy took the hint and stopped. "What about the priests? Is the Senior Priest in charge?"
"Nope. The Temple Priest ranks him."
Lon watched the scouts decide on a corridor and lope through, the priests following. "I was delighted to see they didn't bring any Little Gods. I thought they needed them for power?"
"Yeah, most priests do. Some of them have something extra. I studied a little biology, and managed to see a few things about genetics from other worlds, from Earth and Comet Fall. I think some of them are double sourced. You can bet Temple Priest Notcher is. The senior . . . I don't know. They usually use the ordinary priests for the gods' leashes. But they may have decided Warric needs someone stronger." Jack thumped his horse's ribs. It sighed and reluctantly headed for the corridor.
Percy set a better example by trotting through it without turning a hair.
On the far side, the priests were bunched around the two older men while the scouts scouted.
Lon stopped well short. Hopefully they'd take it as respect, not . . . instant dislike. He looked over at Farester. "So . . . the thre
e ordinary priests and twelve initiates?"
"Pure show. An important man never goes anywhere without people to scramble to please him."
Lon eyed the group ahead. "Well, they know how to ride. So maybe they enjoy roughing it. Because unless they've got dimensional bags those two pack horses can't be carrying enough for twenty-one people for more than a few days."
Jack shrugged. "All they need to do is get within a hundred feet or so of Warric. Poor sod. They'll never let him go."
"Ah . . . isn't he powerful?"
"Yes. That's why there's a Temple Priest along. If Senior Priest Collier can't chain and hook him, His Excellency Notcher will step in and chain him . . . "
"And then you'll see those ordinary priests leaping in to get their hook in first." Farester hunched his shoulders. "Warric was a damned good friend. We called ourselves the Death and Destruction League. It was amusing . . . then."
Lon eyed him, spotted Jack nodding, and glancing hastily at the riders ahead, but they were well ahead, hustling through the next gate.
Hmm, this could be an . . . interesting trip. But hopefully unsuccessful.
Chapter Seventeen
Great Balls of Fire!
Four gates later, the wagon tracks led, not to the clearly visible corridor, but down slope into a strip of forest surrounding a very large body of water.
Doesn't smell like the ocean, must be a freshwater lake, not an ocean inlet.
Lon narrowed his eyes. Was that a thin stream of smoke? Oh hell. Are they camping?
The scouts were pointing.
The priests all leaned eagerly.
"We've got him!" The senior priest booted his horse forward and galloped down the hill with no sign of caution. The rest of the red and yellow robes charged after him.
"Pack of starving wolves." Farester muttered.
"All that's missing is the howl." Jack kicked his mount forward. "Arbol! I really don't want to see this."
Farester hesitated. "Jack, there's nothing we can do. That's not Warric anymore. Not really. You know those gods aren't sane after what they do to them."
Lon reined Percy around. "Stay here, unless you're good at magic shields. A battle of the sort that's about to happen isn't any place for a normal human."
They sensibly stopped, but Lon kept going. I'll need to report back what happened.
Lon could see the fireballs before he cleared the trees. God only knew what other spells were flying around. The fireballs were bouncing, flying every direction. Branches fell from trees, for no visible reason. A bird fell from the sky and hit the ground in front of him.
Lon backed Percy away and told himself to watch. Period.
Women and children were scrambling for two wagons. The astronomers' wagons. Horses already hitched—they must have been ready to move out when the priests attacked. But who are all these other people? Saddled horses were milling around, not quite ready to bolt.
A fiery figure walked to the side, clear of the women and children.
"Get him! Collier, quickly!"
The senior priest swung off his prancing half-panicked mount and ran forward.
One of the women had her back to the melee, made a circling motion . . .
"The rest of you! Stop the witch! She's made a corridor!" Notcher kicked his horse toward the fiery figure by the lake.
The lesser priests veered toward the witch. The first wagon lurched into motion and took aim at the circle of grass and sky silhouetted against the forest. It looked like Trill, the woman with the astronomy team, driving the telescope wagon.
Marius Menchuro, with a sword in one hand and a fireball in the other, got between the priests and the last kids scrambling toward the wagons. Loose horses galloped through the corridor. Two women tossed kids unceremoniously into the second wagon as it started moving. The astronomer tossed a fireball and darted forward. He yanked a still figure off the ground and over his shoulder, turned and ran. Fireballs bounced off a shield behind him.
The fiery figure darted forward, both hands waving, but whatever he was doing, the priests could shield against.
Notcher shook his fist—throwing a spell, no doubt—and again as it had no effect. Again. Then he turned and threw it at the woman who'd made the corridor. She staggered, hands going to her throat.
The second wagon rolled through the corridor. The man carrying the child over his shoulder leaped through. The woman stumbled after him.
The fiery figure disappeared.
"Illusion! We've been tricked!" The senior priest turned and ran for the corridor.
Lon could see through the corridor. Could see the last witch, hands still to her throat, staggering away from her corridor. A galloping horse, the rider in a black robe, swept across the opening, then both were out of sight.
Two red-robed priests and three yellow-robed initiates were lying still on the ground. Both of the scouts were out cold.
The Temple Priest called that woman a witch. Comet Fall witch or Arbolian? Dimensionally talented, trained well enough to throw a corridor a couple of miles under pressure. Must be Comet Fall.
Lon booted Percy into action and followed the howling mob through the new corridor.
One of the black robes was waving his arms, oblivious to the effect on his alarmed mount. "They just popped out of that new corridor and went through the old one. We charged them, but we were halfway down the hill. I was just a few strides behind Farester, he was right on the last woman . . . he went through, but a second later . . . nothing! It's gone!"
Lon cleared his throat. "They must have closed the corridor between the gate areas. Unfortunately Q usually put at least fifty kilometers between the gates, in case of pursuit. Because they could take down the corridors so easily, so quickly. 'Pop them' is how Q put it."
"What's that in miles? Which direction?"
Lon pulled his schematic map out of his pocket . . . "This is gate fifty-nine . . . the next gate is southeast. Sixty-two kilometers . . . about forty miles."
They all turned and looked southeast. The ground dropped away into heavy forest. A winding break was probably a river, then the ground rose again, steeply.
"Did that heretical woman put the gates the most difficult forty miles apart?" Notcher turned and glared at him.
"Yes. In case the One or Earth was on their heels. They wanted to stop an army. That had tanks."
The senior priest scowled.
"I can probably get Xen here to throw a corridor faster than we could get through or across. And some medics. We should check your people." Lon tried to look helpful, rather than gleeful, as he turned in the saddle. "Oh Hell."
Smoke from a dozen fires rose behind them.
They all turned and looked.
"Bah! They let stun spells get through their shields. Weaklings. They'll wake soon enough." Notcher scowled toward the southeast. "We don't need help from a wild god. He probably hopes his fellow god escapes."
He pointed a finger at the black robe. "You. Get back to the lake. Tend to the priests and send them after us when they wake."
The black robe tossed a glance southeast, then turned his horse and rode down to the new corridor.
Lon watched the Arbolians ride into the forest. Three days minimum, I'll bet. And if they close the next corridor we'll never find them.
He looked at the tree tops. Swaying in the wind. Assuming all those fireballs haven't started a major forest fire. In which case an escaped god is going to be the least of Temple Priest Notcher's worries.
"Well, Percy, I think we'll rescue the nasty people down at the lake first, then we'll fetch Xen anyway. Fast if the fire takes off, slowly if it doesn't."
***
"Close the corridor! Close the corridor!" Farester hauled on the reins and managed to not crash into the last wagon, leaned and set the woman on her feet. "Can you . . . " He stopped talking as he glanced back in time to see Jack rushing at them . . . and gone.
Farester looked around a bit uncertainly.
The woman h
e'd half carried, half dragged through the corridor was muttering, making motions with her hands. The other one with her hands raised to where the corridor used to be turned and scowled at him.
"Take it off! Take the Chain spell off Crimson. Right! Now!"
"Umm . . . " Farester raised his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. "I'm not a priest. Not Magic. I can't do anything."
His head jerked around at the sight of fire . . . "Warric? Holy Arbol! They really messed you up didn't they?"
The fiery apparition of his old friend nodded. Grabbed a stick and started scribbling on the ground.
Farester slid off the horse and edged closer. "Nil or virgin? Huh?"
The woman he'd grabbed finally dropped her hands in defeat. "Nil. Unless your old friend here is a virgin."
Farester gulped. "A sacrifice? Killing a virgin takes the spell off?" He started looking for a place to run.
The women—all of them—started laughing.
The Chained woman walked up to him. "Hi. I'm Crimson. And all I want you to sacrifice is your virginity, and I'm more than willing to make you really really enjoy it."
A grinning fiery Warric wrote more . . .
"The Death and Destruction League fears nothing? Very funny. Shouldn't you guys be running away? And collapsing more corridors behind you?" Farester gulped. Crimson was damn good looking even in riding gear with her brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that showed off killer cheekbones and big blue eyes.
And . . . even just thinking about what she'd look like all fancied up . . . or naked . . . was enough to, umm, make him willing . . . and terrified.
Crimson looked over her shoulder at the others. "You guys go ahead at least three gates. I'll be along in a couple of hours, and pop the corridors as I go."
***
Lon's saddle bags even produced a shovel, the best forest fire fighting tool in existence. He had the nearest ground fires out before the black robe finished pulling his colleagues down onto the sandy beach away from anything flammable.
