Darkvision

by Bruce R Cordell

  Ususi nodded and turned the carriage down the path. As promised, the angle pulled all the riders back in their seats.

  “This will get us to a side door halfway up the peak. Unless Shaddon changed the locks, I can get us in without attracting any notice.”

  Their speed dropped to about half their earlier clip—the summoned beast struggled with the grade, but persevered.

  Eined touched Iahn’s shoulder. “Sorry—you were asking about the Adama? Adama is not a person, but a belief system and a code of conduct. To the average Durpari, the Adama is the one true force guiding their lives. It encompasses all the deities of what some call the lesser beliefs.” She shook her head and smiled sardonically.

  “You do not follow the path of the Adama,” Iahn concluded.

  “I did, once. But if you are part of a merchant family long enough, you either learn to lie to yourself—a mind sickness I’d prefer to avoid—or recognize the Adama as just another in a string of half truths the merchant elites feed the lesser classes to keep themselves on top.”

  Iahn said, “How so?”

  “Think about it. The Adama teaches that only through honest business practices and mutual respect can one find peace and happiness. The key word is ‘honest.’ Sitting on the council of any of the big chakas in Vaelan quickly teaches that larger profits are possible the further a merchant stretches the concept of honesty.”

  “Mmmm,” agreed Iahn noncommittally, seeing that Eined was expressing pent-up hostility. She might be correct, but he had little common experience as a basis for comparison.

  “But,” continued Eined, warming to her argument, “the Durpari people get their sense of truth, fairness, and racial tolerance from the conviction that everything and everyone is a manifestation of the Adama. It’s the foundation by which they conduct themselves. In fact, word of the Adama has spread to other lands, giving all of us a reputation for evenhandedness and fairness—which only enhances business prospects.”

  “Eined,” Ususi said quietly, “we’re being hailed. What should I do?”

  While Eined lectured Iahn on the Adama, the road had begun to switch back and forth at an alarmingly precipitous angle. In a short time, they ascended a few hundred feet on a path that zigged and zagged upward.

  An iron gate blocked access to the roadway ahead. On the left side of the gate was an impassable vertical wall. On the right side, a drop of a few hundred feet emptied onto a reddish-brown boulder field. Two men stood on the road in front of the gate, near a small guard cave hollowed into the side of the mountain. One had his hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. The other, a pace behind the first and standing in the mouth of the cave, had a bow in hand and a shaft resting lightly on the string. Although the arrow was not yet drawn, the threat was implicit in the man’s stance.

  The guard with the sword moved a step closer and yelled, “Stop! Turn around. This route is closed.”

  Eined stood immediately and raised her hand in greeting. “Captain Alberik, don’t you remember me?”

  The captain blinked his eyes, then a grin spread wide over his face. “Mistress Eined!” The guard stopped, at a loss for words.

  “How long has it been—five years?—since last you opened the side gate for me, Captain?”

  The guard nodded. A smile flirted with his lips. “Too long. I’ve missed you.”

  “Yes, yes, and I you,” said Eined hastily. “I’m back now—I must run up and talk with my uncle. Be a prince and open the way for me, won’t you?”

  Alberik asked, “Why didn’t you come by airship? This access is closed.”

  “If I had come by airship, how would you know I’d returned?”

  The captain blushed, then said, “I thank the lady’s kindness.” Alberik turned to the other guard, who stood puzzling over his captain’s apparent familiarity with the intruder. “Open the gate. It’s all right—this is Eined Datharathi!”

  The other guard jumped, retreated into the cave mouth, and in moments the sound of a metal crank was audible. The gate slowly slid into a recess in the cliff wall. As it did, Alberik moved to the side of the carriage. He reached up and grasped one of Eined’s hands, asking, “Will you come back to see me?”

  Eined smiled and said, “I hope so.” Ususi drove the coach forward. In moments, they left behind the open gate and hopeful guard captain. Eined smiled fondly and said, “The fruits of a misspent youth sometimes work in your favor.”

  The increasingly angled path terminated in a dark tunnel mouth. Adama’s Tooth still soared higher into the air. Even the efforts of dwarven engineering had limits—no mundane road could hope to reach Adama’s Tooth’s apex.

  Eined pointed out the airship port—two great wings of stone high above them. They could see the silhouette of a ship hanging at a pier within the torchlit cavity.

  “Someone from Vaelan is here. Probably just a routine visit.” Eined’s voice betrayed uncertainty.

  “No doubt,” said Iahn. He was sure he’d have noticed any magical scrutiny of their approach. He’d felt none. The vengeance taker doubted that anyone expected Eined to appear at the family mine site.

  Ususi drove the coach to the edge of the tunnel mouth and stopped. “We’re too wide,” she said, comparing the width of the tunnel to their carriage.

  “This high passage is rarely used, and never by conveyances as large as this. We’ll have to walk from here.”

  Ususi nodded. She tied off the reins, pulled the handbrake, and pointed at the steed tied into its harnesses. With a small pop, the creature vanished.

  After dismounting, the trio gathered in front of the tunnel. Ususi snapped her fingers and said, “Bring me my pack!”

  Eined glanced at the wizard, then at Iahn, uncertain if Ususi were talking to her. She gave a small jump of surprise when the coach door opened of its own accord and Ususi’s large pack floated out and into the wizard’s hands.

  “Don’t worry. My uskura is always with us,” said Ususi, as she reached into the pack. She pulled forth a tiny orb of pale stone.

  Eined peered around, trying to discern the invisible helper, with no luck.

  “It’s perfectly natural. Where we’re from, they’re common aides.”

  “Where you’re from … where is that?” asked Eined. “I’ve noticed how pale you both seem. And the streaks that run through your skin.”

  “Our home is far from here,” broke in Iahn. “Now, let’s enter and find what we came for.”

  Eined nodded and dropped the subject.

  Ususi released the orb to orbit her brow, and a bright light broke from it. Following the wizard, Eined and Iahn entered the tunnel mouth.

  What’s wrong, Grandson?” asked Shaddon. “Are you not happy to see the excellent fashion in which your grandfather has preserved himself against time’s insult?”

  The living flesh of the elder Datharathi, if any remained, was lost in glittering, glassy facets. His face was a crystalline mask, but beneath it, veins pulsed with blood, raw muscle moved, and bone gleamed. One eye socket was replaced completely with a crystal orb, but the other remained real—a watery blue orb that rolled and fluttered as if caught in a trap. The man was clothed head to toe in ornate golden robes complete with a stiff collar, cape, and silken gauntlets, so Warian was unable to determine the extent of Shaddon’s self-transformation. Warian feared the worst.

  “I’m … glad to see you again after so long, Grandfather,” he finally managed. Warian unconsciously tried to catch the porter’s eye—had Uncle Zel known the extent of Shaddon’s transformation? The consummate professional, Zel didn’t react to Warian’s glance. Instead, he moved to one side as if looking for a place to set down the baggage.

  Shaddon grinned. Somehow, the crystal of his face was able to flow and move almost like real flesh. Seeing the naked sinew beneath the mask made the expression too much like a skull’s rictus for Warian’s comfort. He partially averted his gaze.

  “And it is good to see you, too, Warian. Very, very good indeed.” If
possible, his grandfather’s grin seemed to stretch wider. Warian’s earlier concern that Shaddon might harbor the same taint as the other plangents returned and perched on his heart.

  “Because you miss your grandchildren?”

  “Certainly, always. But also because of what you represent, Warian. You’re the first, you know. Your arm is what led to all this.” Warian’s grandfather gestured to his own face and toward Sevaera, who stood nearby.

  “I’m here because I’ve been having trouble with it. It is malfunctioning of late, and I’d like to learn to control it.”

  Shaddon nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard. Let me take a look,” he commanded, approaching Warian.

  “You’ve heard? But we’ve only just arrived.”

  “You don’t think my communication with Datharathi Minerals is limited to the speed of an airship, do you? Of course not. I have my ways. Now, let me see your arm.”

  Warian held out his prosthesis, palm upward. His grandfather reached out with his gloved hands and ran them along the crystal.

  “Interesting,” said his grandfather in a distracted manner. “You may not know it, Warian, but your prosthesis is cut from a portion of the lode not connected with the pure vein we found recently. It is not part of the crystal node that has brought the family so much wealth and influence.”

  “I saw the new mine—and some sort of magical portal. Where in the name of the four dooms does that thing lead?” Warian imagined some sort of fiery hellscape, the typical destination of such ancient gates, according to popular tales and tavern songs.

  Shaddon chuckled. “Time enough for full explanations later. Let’s see …” Shaddon gazed intently at Warian’s prosthesis. Shaddon’s crystal eye glowed, hinting at some sort of magical analysis beyond Warian’s ken.

  “What’s the verdict?” asked Warian.

  “Impossible to say for sure,” said Shaddon, releasing Warian’s arm. “One thing is certain. Your arm is not part of the new crystalworks. That may be why you’re losing control over it, as you say—though I suspect there’s more to it than that.”

  Warian shrugged.

  “In any event, if I’m to reach a definite conclusion, I’ll have to remove it.”

  Warian’s jaw dropped. “Remove … no. Out of the question.”

  Shaddon laughed. “Your error is your belief that you have any option other than what I want. The arm will come off. By Pandorym’s voice, you will …”

  The porter brained Shaddon with an iron bar he’d apparently pilfered from a workbench in the neighboring chamber.

  The light in Shaddon’s crystal eye winked out, and he dropped heavily to the floor.

  “Let’s get out of here, kid,” the porter said, his voice returning to the timber and Vaelanic accent of his Uncle Zel.

  “You’ll go nowhere,” said Sevaera. She stood in the doorway, blocking their exit. Her voice was oddly deep and throaty—but familiar. All too horribly familiar. Shaddon’s voice issued from Sevaera’s mouth.

  Warian and Zel blinked, stunned. Sevaera yelled, “Aid me, my pets!”

  Zel looked around nervously, then advanced toward the exit, the iron bar gripped solidly in his pale hands. He said, his voice slightly shaky, “You saw me strike down dear old Dad. I’ll do the same to you, Sis. Get out of my way.”

  Sevaera said, “Your father is more resilient than you think. Open your ears, fool—who do you think is talking to you?” The voice was unquestionably Shaddon’s scratchy tone. Zel merely shook his head, refusing to consider the truth.

  A spider the size of a dog dropped onto Zel’s back. Zeltaebar uttered an oath and began to beat at his back ineffectually with his pry bar. Sevaera tittered in Shaddon’s heavy tones.

  Warian turned and knocked the spider away with his prosthesis. The arm was still slow, slower than flesh, but he caught the creature squarely on the torso. As it fell, it snapped overlarge mandibles at Warian. Its mandibles were crystalline, through and through, and glowing with violet malevolence.

  “Watch it, Zel. These things are enhanced with crystal!”

  Zel whirled and struck at the spider. It caught the iron bar in its mandibles. Zel cursed and tried to pull the tool free. The spider flexed its fangs, and the iron bar began to bend. While the spider was occupied, Warian moved forward and delivered a terrific kick directly to the spider’s head. Something crunched, and sticky fluid spurted. A moment later, the spider’s legs curled up beneath it and it ceased moving.

  Three more spiders dropped from the ceiling. One had crystalline mandibles as large as the first spider’s, another had legs of slender violet stalks, and the last spider’s spinnerets, protruding obscenely from its posterior, were composed of humming purple crystal.

  The three arachnids dropped so they were roughly equidistant from each other, with Warian and Zel penned in at the center of the triangle they formed. Warian couldn’t decide—should he trigger his arm, or wait? The weakness that would follow would make him worthless.

  “We’ve got trouble, Nephew,” Zel breathed, sizing up the spiders.

  “Indeed,” said Shaddon’s voice.

  Warian’s grandfather stood up from where he lay, apparently no worse for wear. His voice again emanated from his own throat. Sevaera blinked and shook her head.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  The spiders held their distance, taut with expectation. Warian supposed they waited for a signal from Shaddon—perhaps a signal as ethereal as desire. His grandfather was demonstrating the danger of taking a prosthesis. He could send more than a signal—he could send his entire consciousness, like a possessing spirit. The evidence was incontrovertible. Except Warian was certain he’d never been possessed by any outside consciousness.

  Warian exclaimed, “You can’t reach me, can you? That’s why you want to remove my arm. I’m outside your control!”

  Shaddon laughed, but it was strangely nervous. Both eyes, the flesh and the crystal, darted about as if searching for something, then focused again on Warian. He said, “Something like that. Just as I can command those who are outfitted with my advanced prostheses, I myself am susceptible to influence by a … disagreeable entity I’d rather avoid. Your prosthesis harbors the secret of erecting that barrier. And, by all accounts, it grants you some of the benefits a plangent enjoys.”

  “If you want my help, I’ll give it,” said Warian, trying to look into his grandfather’s eyes and discern if the man spoke truth. “If you’re afraid of something beyond you, let’s work together. You don’t need to …”

  “No. It’s far beyond that now. There are other players in this little drama, and they’re making a nuisance of themselves. Events have advanced too quickly.”

  “But …”

  “Sevaera! Restrain these two. The arachnids will help. More visitors have arrived!” So saying, Shaddon blurred out of the chamber, moving with the enhanced speed only a plangent could muster.

  Warian pleaded, “Aunt, let us go—can’t you see Shaddon’s corrupted? We need to flee!”

  His aunt, still confused and perhaps a bit scared, nevertheless stood her ground. She said, “Don’t take me for a fool, youngster. Stay where you are, or …” she trailed off, gesturing to the spiders.

  Taking her wave as a cue, two of the monsters rushed forward. The one with the crystal legs jumped at Warian. Before he could do more than widen his eyes, it was on him, sticking to his body with its prosthetic legs. The spider with the crystal mandibles skittered toward Zel, who raised his bent iron bar and called, “Warian—if you can use your arm, do it!”

  Sevaera squawked, “Stop! I command it! You spiders—I did not tell you to attack! You stupid, stupid creatures!” The woman stamped her foot, and her crystal implants began to glow. Instead of taking action, she continued to shout at the spiders. The one on Warian responded by squeezing him. The arachnid closing on Zel continued its advance. The final spider turned and began to exude slender strands of crystal webbing.

  Warian realized that events had spira
led beyond his aunt’s control. He didn’t trust her anyway, since she was susceptible to Shaddon’s control—or perhaps some deeper, more corrupt entity, if Shaddon could be believed.

  Warian focused his mind on his prosthesis.

  Violet light took fire in Warian. A miniature sun burned a circuit down his forged arm, awaking it to something better than mere life. Warian grinned, and with the merest flick of his prosthetic finger, propelled his eight-legged attacker off his body and out the open doorway.

  He turned. The light in his energized arm was bright—brighter than it had been on the two occasions he’d called its power. He laughed, drunk on the feeling—he was faster and stronger than ever! His power was mounting, not diminishing.

  Another theory immediately vied for his attention. Could it be that he was simply draining his life-force more completely each time he called on the artificial limb’s hidden gift? Intuition told him that the less agreeable and more deadly explanation was the likely one.

  Could he control the effect, he wondered? Could he moderate how much energy his arm pulled from his body and mind? The previous times he’d triggered his ability, he’d been desperate, as he was now. But then, as now, the arm brimmed with so much more strength than he needed. And when the implant dimmed, he felt so horribly drained.

  Warian concentrated on dimming the light in his arm, imagining its brilliance damping but not failing completely.

  A green and purple haze swirled before him, and a sharp nausea dug into his bowels. His breath heaved, but the radiance of his arm faded without going out.

  Immediately, the sounds and movements around him returned to a normal speed.

  His Uncle Zel yelled, in a voice barely distorted, “Warian, get this thing away from me! What are you doing standing there?” The crystal-mandibled spider snapped at Zel, but Warian’s uncle fought it off, just barely, by swinging his iron bar.

  Warian moved to aid Zel, but fell down instead. Had he drained himself anyway? No—something tugged at his foot—he was caught! Glistening purple strands of crystal stretched between the floor and his left leg, anchoring him in place. The spider with the prosthetic spinnerets had been busy. To Warian’s horror, it spun yet another crystal strand, one end of which caught him on his crystal arm.