robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain

by Robert N. Charrette

  "Look, let's get one thing straight," John snapped. "I don't care what you think!"

  Bennett looked at John out of the corners of his eyes. "Don't you?"

  "No."

  "Very well, Jack. If you say so."

  "What do you care why I went with Wilson? Since when did it matter to you why I did anything?"

  "I am your father, Jack."

  "So you say. It's not what my mother says."

  "Forget Marianne Reddy. She is no longer a part of your life."

  "What do you mean by that?" What did he know?

  "I mean that now that you know your true heritage, you have no need to rely on the fiction in which you were reared. Living in the past can be very dangerous, especially to elves. I'd rather not see you fall into that trap."

  "Oh? What sort of trap would you want me to fall into? Yours?"

  "I am not trying to trap you. But I had begun to fear that the dwarves had. They are not your friends, Jack. They are, in fact, long-standing enemies of our blood. It's always been that way. Remember how they tortured Harry, and put a-trans-mitter on him to follow us to the otherworld?"

  That wasn't how John remembered it. "I thought that was Mitsutomo's doing."

  "So did Mitsutomo. Oh, to be sure, there were those in the corporation who were willing partners in the venture; but they were dupes, as well. In the end, it was the dwarves who instigated the attempts to kill Artos."

  "Don't be ridiculous. The dwarves have an old friendship with Bear. They want to help him."

  "You think they were helping him? Not to disparage your facility with electronics, but why do you think that it was so easy for you to rouse Artos, once they weren't around to help?"

  "Why? What did they have to gain?"

  "Caliburn, perhaps."

  "But only Bear can use it."

  "Don't believe everything you read," Bennett said warn-ingly. "But they need not be able to use the talisman, to desire it. Their purpose might simply be to keep Caliburn from the hands of those who can use it. The dwarves are driven in ways you and I will never understand. They are magic-dead; that is a fact. They don't want anyone to have magic."

  "Why's that a problem? Lots of people want some things and don't want other things. If they don't want magic, that's okay. They don't have to have any." "They are not a tolerant folk. They have a tendency to make their problems into other people's problems."

  John tried to dismiss Bennett's bigotry with a wave of his hand.

  "You can't dismiss the problem so easily," the elf insisted. "The dwarves couldn't have magic if they wanted it. It is a flaw in their kind that has warped their view of the way things should be. They have always striven to keep the magic bottled up. Nothing would make them happier than to see our realm permanently separated from the sunlit world."

  "Might not be such a bad idea."

  "You're very wrong, Jack. Magic is the hope of the world. Both worlds. The dwarves are too stupid to see the truth."

  "Maybe they don't think it is the truth."

  "I'm quite sure they don't. However, no amount of thought or desire can change the truth, Jack. Just as no amount of self-delusion can change the fact that they were using you for their own purposes."

  "Like nobody's ever done that before," John said, staring accusingly at Bennett.

  "Jack, I didn't come to get you for selfish reasons."

  "I'll just bet."

  "I understand your hostility. There's so much you don't understand, and there isn't time right now to explain it all to you."

  That riff again. "Will there ever be a right time?"

  Bennett ignored his question. "Do you remember that I said there was a danger?"

  "So we're finally getting around to what you want. Took you long enough. Just remember something I said—I'm not going to kill anyone for you."

  "I am quite content to let you make the decision as to whether there will be any killing." A pause. "Do you recall Dr. Elizabeth Spae?"

  Of course he did. She was one of the two foreign secret service agents who had gone with them to the otherworld. She'd been a little standoffish, but okay for an old lady. John had kind of liked her.

  "The danger that is loose in the sunlit world threatens her. A thing, a deadly creature, has set its sights on her. She's in clanger, and she needs your help."

  "Is this a real threat or did you set it up?"

  "This abomination is nothing of my doing," Bennett said earnestly.

  John believed him; there was a loathing in the elf's tone that was too deep to be faked. "What can I do about it that you can't? Or her, for that matter? Isn't she a mage? I have trouble lighting a candle with magic." Another thought occurred to him. "If you know all about this threat, why don't you go help her yourself?"

  "Artos has poisoned her against me. I fear that she will not believe what I tell her."

  "I guess some people aren't too stupid to see the truth."

  "Your attitude is not helpful, Jack. I had hoped that you would be concerned enough for her to tell her of the danger. She will trust you. She will believe you, and she will accept your help."

  "I don't even know what this danger is."

  "I will tell you."

  "I don't know ..."

  "Are you going to turn aside and allow her to be killed?"

  Against John's better judgment, Bennett's "responsibility" trip was getting to Mm. But there were so many questions. "How do you know about this? How do you know this what-ever-it-is is going after Dr. Spae?"

  "Will you let her die, knowing that you could have warned her?"

  "You didn't answer my questions."

  "There may not be enough time to save her if you continue to dither."

  There had to be deceit somewhere in what Bennett was doing, but John didn't have enough data even to guess at what. "Why are you doing this?"

  "Whether you believe it or not, I like Dr. Spae," Bennett said evenly. "I would not like to see her hurt."

  It sounded honest, real. With Bennett momentarily vulnerable, John couldn't resist the shot. "Got a use for her in mind?"

  "Jack, I don't use everyone I meet."

  "No? I guess you just save your manipulations for family."

  Bennett looked stern. "Will you warn her?"

  "How? I don't have any idea where she is."

  "I do."

  "Then you warn her."

  "She won't believe me. Will you let her die?"

  Could taking a warning to the doctor be a bad thing? At the very least Bennett would stop pestering him about it. If the threat was real, he might actually save Dr. Spae.

  "All right," he said, resolving to tell the doctor exactly where the information came from. He'd let her decide whether or not to believe it.

  "You've made a good decision, Jack." The air behind Bennett began to sparkle with a rainbow shine. Bennett held out his hand. "Come. I will take you to her."

  "Now?"

  "Now. Time grows short. I'll tell you about Quetzal on the way."

  John took the offered hand. The tingle of the transition to the otherworld was beginning to feel familiar.

  CHAPTER

  21

  Quetzal floated among the stars, basking in their radiance. They were magnificent in their multitudes, uplifting in their brilliance. Would that he could see them as easily with his bodily eyes as with his astral vision. He hadn't expected that the conditions necessary to the opening of the way would rob him of the stars.

  Things would be different after the change.

  There were stars below him as well. Not real stars, dimmer than real stars, but sparkling nonetheless. The apparent stars were flickerings of power, signs that magic was loose upon the earth.

  Most of the false, earthbound stars marked where some human stood upon the land and touched the cosmic energies. The intensity of the light varied according to how the power was being manipulated as well as the general ability of the individual. The strongest manipulators were always visible, to some degree, t
o the trained astral eye; mastery of the mysteries marked the master as a beacon does a distant coast.

  It was a sparse starscape.

  He noted the presence of the local followers. There were other practitioners as well, but Quetzal observed only a single significant point: the mage he'd first sensed as she flew over the ocean. The magical unsophistication of the new age was disappointing; where was the pleasure at being the most accomplished among such a sorry lot?

  There were other luminaries among the lamps of the earth. The largest of them marked places of power, convergences of thaumaturgic energy and the etherometric lines. Such places were called lucernae by this era's students of the Great Art closest to his own tradition. Quetzal knew the energy loci under many names, preferring some of the others to the Latin name; he would refer to them as lucernae from now on, as an exercise in commonality. Commonality was one of Lu-ciferius's favorite magical laws—unsurprising given his love for words; the law stated that the magic of naming and compulsion worked better when those involved shared a language—quite similar to the principle behind True Names and, as he had often argued with Luciferius, possibly making Commonality merely a corollary of that law. But this was a time for harmony, not argument; and under Commonality, Quetzal's harmony with the current era would be improved by using Latin. A not insignificant side effect would be an increase in his relative power with regard to the followers— other magicians descended from his tradition as well.

  Such considerations were best undertaken at other times; the astral state tended to lead one into a wandering state of mind. He returned his thoughts to his purpose and fell again to observing energies of the astral landscape.

  There were minor lights dotting that landscape, dimmer by far than the diffuse regional glows of the lucernae. Such lights showed where objects of power reposed. It was one of those objects, a telesmon, that he sought in this excursion.

  The easiest objects for him to perceive were the resonators. To him, they were the brightest by far of their kind, more visible due to his connection to them. He could not see all of the resonators—even astral vision had its limitations—but all those within his range of sight remained where he had ordered them set. When linked, they would form a glowing web of a theurgic geometry that would be pleasing to the stars.

  The gateway.

  And he had achieved its placement!

  Understanding the form was an old achievement for him; he had understood the form for centuries before he'd taken the deep dreaming sleep. Creating the resonators had been a comparatively minor accomplishment. Arranging for their placement had been trivial; the followers of the Path had been prepared by the secret canon and they had been ready to set the devices in place.

  But the gateway was worthless without the Key, and that remained elusive.

  The prophecies claimed that the nature of the Key would be revealed in the time of the Opening. They also said that the Seeker would find without knowing, but in finding would know. Knowing, the Seeker would open the gateway to the Glittering Path.

  By all the signs, the time was now.

  He would be the Seeker.

  The Key was waiting to be found. He sought it, not knowing its form or nature, but holding its purpose in his mind. He must not doubt that he would recognize his prize when he found it.

  It, or a clue to its hidden location.

  Over and over his attention was drawn to a particular lucerna among the scattered places of power. Power gathered to power. He turned his attention to it. The region glowed softly with solid coils of thaumaturgic energy; flashes of activity flickered-fitfully across its breadth. Only when he devoted his full attention to the lucerna did he perceive that one of its interior sparkles did not fade and did not move. It was not a magician, or a spirit, but a something hedged by power.

  Could it be what he sought?

  He felt compelled to peer beyond the energies enwrapping the thing. Cautiously, he examined the compulsion and found that it was not laid upon him in any way he understood.

  The starshine warmed him, filling him with preternatural wisdom. Soft, sibilant voices whispered in his head, promising the fulfillment of all his dreams and urging him to act. He understood what he was seeing, knowing it with a clarity usually reserved for things seen under the full light of the sun he could no longer face.

  This lucerna held a key to the Key.

  His unique place in the scheme of things was clear. He was the greatest mage. His was to be the glory.

  He was the Seeker of the prophecy!

  His essence drifted higher toward the loving embrace of the stars.

  It Would all be his!

  Yet there was another nearby who might use the key. Her strength was less than his, but sufficient nonetheless.

  The mage who flew.

  Below him shimmered the spark that was she.

  Did she know how close they were to the time of the Opening? Was she aware of him and his intentions? He did not sense the aura of the opposition about her, but she need not be one of them to oppose him. Unaligned forces had ruined his plans before. And obtaining the key to the Key might expose him. He could not afford to act without knowing her side in the great struggle, because she was close enough to present a danger were she to operate against him.

  On the other hand, if she was truly unaligned, she might be convinced to join him. Her power would be useful. Not necessary, of course, but useful.

  And if she offered a threat, he would dispose of her. He was stronger now, more awake. He was confident that she would fall before him if they dueled.

  He returned to his fleshly shell, eager to take the next steps on destiny's road.

  Spae was tired, having spent a long day studying the readouts from the machines monitoring the Settawego Building and trying to match the data with her own impressions. There were still half a dozen output files to get through, but she decided that she had probably done enough for the day. She picked at the remains of her room service meal, deciding that she had definitely had enough of it. She sat back and looked around her.

  The room Mr. Ryder had arranged for her in the Hartford Nikko was much fancier than the one where she and David had spent their first night together. It was actually a suite, with four bedrooms and a common area, that occupied one whole floor of the hotel's northwest tower. Two of the bedrooms were unoccupied. Three, actually, with David off at some editorial meeting; not that he slept there anyway. The suite was more spacious than her cottage in Chardonneville. She was sure the rental fee was outrageous and was glad that the suite was part of the "expenses" in her arrangement with LRP and Associates.

  But while well-appointed, spacious, and comfortable, it lacked something, as all hotel rooms seemed to. She felt an emptiness about it. And not just because David was out. Hotels always gave her the feeling that she was on display.

  It was vaguely like the feeling she'd gotten in her last weeks at Chardonneville.

  Which made her feel even less like getting back to work.

  She went to her room and took a long, hot shower. Feeling better, she pulled on her new nightshirt—one of David's T-shirts—and wandered back into the common room, intending to wait up for him. She considered calling up some entertainment on the room's perscomp and decided against it. Quiet had its virtues. She stretched out on the couch, thinking she'd give some thought to her future, but couldn't manage to keep her thoughts on any one track. She must be more tired than she thought. To hell with it; there was always tomorrow to worry. She needed rest. She let herself go and was soon drowsily drifting into sleep. She really did need some rest.

  She really did need ...

  She really ...

  She...

  She opened her eyes to find a man standing before her. He was tall, with coal-dark skin and snowy hair. Although his skin was unlined and shone with youth, his eyes were old with wisdom. Those eyes told her he was a wizard.

  Recognizing that, she saw that he was dressed as the Hierophant. Long robes swathed
his body, draping elegantly from his raised right arm, which he held as if preparing to give her a benediction. In his other hand he held a crosier glittering with gems and shining with power. A multitiered crown sat on his head, but unlike the crown in her tarot deck, made of gold and gems, his was of iridescent feathers that sprouted in three tiers from a band of jade, tourmaline, and turquoise.

  In the distance behind him, a flickering image caught her attention. Faintly she could see a pale outline running toward her. "David," she called—but it wasn't David; David was not so pale. The Hierophant stood between her and the pale man; she tried to see past him, tried to see who the pale man was since he wasn't David. For a moment, the Hierophant Vanished and the pale man stood before her. With a courtly bow, he offered her a cup. She reached out to take it, but when she closed her hand upon the stem, there was nothing there. The pale man frowned and turned upside down. Although he appeared to be running in her direction, he got farther away rather than closer.

  The Hierophant returned to stand before her, flat as his pasteboard representation. No. It couldn't be. She could feel the power cloaking the man; he was real. With that, the Hierophant's robes and accoutrements dissolved away, paper eaten by a sudden fire. Behind the facade was a more believable image, a gaunt, white-haired Black man in an elegant Italian silk suit. Despite his appearance of African ancestry, there was something in his face that made her think of Central America.

  The Black wizard floated serenely in the air outside the window of the common room.

  Floating outside the window?

  "lace," he commanded.

  She shouldn't have been able to hear him through the window, but she did. She shouldn't have been able to see him either; she had closed the curtains before lying down on the couch. It had to be a dream. To prove it, she opened her eyes—just as the curtains finished parting.

  The man was floating in the air outside her window.

  Not a dream.

  If it wasn't a dream, she should be able to leap up as she wanted to; but she couldn't move. The wizard's command to lie still had force to hold her.

  With an audible snap, a pock appeared in the surface of the window. Spidery cracks radiated out from it, tracing a mad grid of jittery lines across the pane. Pieces of window began to fall, but not just down. Some moved to the sides, some straight up along the plane of the window. The shards moved in slow motion, but not far, until the opening was big enough for him to pass through. Chill air and the sounds of the outside world intruded on the suite.