Chainers Torment mgc-2

by Scott McGough

  The tub side timer went off. Laquatus shifted back to his legged form and signaled for his servants. Two sallow-faced humans in dreary peasant clothing stepped forward and helped him from the tub. One cooled him down with a huge, damp, purple towel, and the other draped a robe around the ambassador's shoulders.

  "Be gone," Laquatus said, and the humans shuffled out.

  Turg, the ambassador's bodyguard and champion, snored loudly on the floor of the next room. The huge amphibian had won four straight matches in the pits that afternoon and then gorged itself at the post- games banquet. Between the mountain of food their Cabal hosts provided and the odd body part or two from his opponents, Turg's appetite was for once completely sated. Laquatus reached out with his mind, confirming that Turg was merely asleep and not comatose, and then let the sleeping giant lie. The slightest unfamiliar sound or smell, the merest whisper of thought from Laquatus, and Turg would be as awake and as dangerous as ever. Laquatus had spent years building and strengthening the master/thrall relationship with Turg, and though the great frog still retained far too much of its own primitive drives, it was unquestionably loyal and nearly perfect in its obedience. Laquatus heard an unfamiliar tone and a strange voice calling his name from elsewhere in the room. In a flash, Turg responded to Laquatus's confusion and rolled onto his huge webbed feet, grumbling angrily. Laquatus waved his familiar away and bid him stand ready. He then went looking for the source of the sound.

  In a trunk bearing his formal attire, he found the imperial mirror Empress Llawan had given him. It played a lyrical fanfare to announce the rank and station of whoever was using it. For Llawan, it played the imperial theme. For Laquatus, it used a piece he himself had written. For this mysterious new person, it played a fairly unimpressive flute aria.

  "… for Ambassador Laquatus. This is Rillu Veza, Director of the Breaker Bay depot for Ambassador Laquatus. Are you there, Ambassador?"

  "This is Laquatus," the ambassador spoke from several feet back, the mirror still hidden inside the trunk. It was a woman's voice, he noted. "And this is a private channel. Do not contact me again."

  "Ambassador? I have information, and a request, from Empress Llawan."

  Laquatus paused. Of course. If someone new was using Llawan's mirror, the empress must have given them instructions to do so.

  "How do I know Llawan sent you?" Laquatus took off his purple robe and rooted around in his wardrobe for a finer one. Turg menacingly sniffed the trunk with the mirror in it, and Laquatus brought him to heel with a thought.

  "Our lady gave me the access to your mirror, Ambassador." Veza said. "She is currently in hiding after another assassination attempt and has asked me to contact you on her behalf. Will you speak to me?"

  Laquatus checked his reflection in the full-length mirror. He polished a spot of condensation off his silver horn cap, wrapped the final yard of blue silk around his waist, and tied it tight. Then he picked up the mirror.

  "Assassination attempt?" he said urgently. "Is the empress all right?" In the mirror, Veza of Breaker Bay jumped at his sudden appearance.

  "Yes, Ambassador. She endures. But she is very, very concerned."

  She ought to be, Laquatus thought. He had spent a lot of Aboshan's money to hire the assassins, though in truth they were hired to disfigure Llawan rather than kill her. Laquatus found the empress too useful to discard just yet, but he also wanted her frightened and focused on Aboshan.

  Veza was pretty, Laquatus thought, but not beautiful. She was an unknown quantity, however, and therefore interesting. Too far away to affect her thoughts, too unfamiliar to gauge her intent. Laquatus sniffed. Llawan must be desperate if she were reaching out to low-level functionaries to do her spying for her.

  "Who were the assassins? Did any of them escape?" Laquatus hoped they hadn't. Survivors would want to be paid the balance of the fee. "No. The empress's guard protected her." Veza's face clouded. "She is concerned about events on Otaria, however. Aboshan's new shipping lanes have not been well received by all. There are those in the depths and especially on the surface who feel cheated, and Llawan fears that she is being made a target for their frustration with the empire as a whole." The scenery behind Veza rolled dizzily as she sat with the mirror in hand. "I've received a number of complaints even here in Breaker Bay."

  "Really." Veza was distracted and rooting for paperwork, so Laquatus was free to stare fixedly at her. "I was just discussing the shipping lanes with a syndicate of Cabal merchants. I have made great progress on behalf of the empire in the houses of both Cabal and Order. It would be a crime if my work on behalf of the empire was undone by a violent splinter group of intolerant cephalids at home."

  "Of course, Ambassador. It is precisely that kind of effort that Llawan needs."

  Laquatus's mind raced. She had just sat down- from a standing position! Veza had suddenly become far more interesting to him.

  "Director," Laquatus said, "allow me to congratulate you."

  "Ambassador?"

  "I know how hard it is for a non-cephalid to achieve any sort of advancement in Mer. They are an old-fashioned people, not given easily to change. You must be extremely adept at your position."

  Veza blinked. "Thank you, Ambassador. But I-"

  "I think we should meet in person, my dear. There is much we have to discuss, for the good of the empire."

  "Of course, Ambassador. When can we-"

  "I am always at the empress's service." He glanced at Turg. Growl, he thought.

  Turg let out a loud, rumbling half-roar that caused Laquatus to wince.

  "Excuse me, Director, but I have an appointment scheduled, and my guest has just arrived. Please excuse this humble diplomat. By my oath, I will contact you as soon as 1 have arranged for our meeting."

  For the first time since he picked up the mirror, Veza's expression was less than polite. She seemed to be peering at him as if seeing him clearly for the first time, sizing him up as a potential ally or opponent.

  "Thank you, Ambassador.

  "Thank you, Director."

  "I hope I can count on you to assist me. We are both in a unique position to help the empress, the empire, and ourselves."

  "Nothing would please me more. I will make some inquiries and arrange for a time and place to share my findings with you." Provided, of course, Laquatus thought, that it serves my needs, and I haven't had you or the empress killed by then. "As I said before, for the good of the empire."

  "Long live the empire. I will await your notice, Ambassador. I can be reached any time, day or night, on this mirror."

  "Very well. I, on the other hand, will not be available. I will have to contact you. It could be a matter of hours, or a matter of days. But I will contact you."

  Veza scowled. "Agreed. Until then, Ambassador, you have my thanks and those of the empress."

  "Long live the empire," Laquatus said. He touched a gem on the mirror's handle, and the vision went blank. Turg belched loudly, and Laquatus muttered, "Go back to sleep," so the great frog rolled happily back onto its side.

  Laquatus put the mirror back into the trunk and locked it up tight. He could sort out where to have a clandestine meeting with Veza and what kind of misinformation to feed the empress later. As intrigued as he was with the sight of another merfolk like himself, right now he needed to check in with his Cabal hosts and arrange for a meeting with the First.

  Laquatus's spies in the Cabal had told him that an artifact of immense power had been recovered and brought safely into the city. Laquatus had felt the presence of the artifact himself, but he had not been able to determine what, or exactly where, it was. According to his sources in the Order, however, high- level adepts of every description were honing in on the artifact like sharks on a bleeding fish.

  Laquatus felt an opportunity growing and was determined to make the most of it. Powerful, functioning artifacts were nearly impossible to come by these days, and if this one was as impressive as it seemed, then Laquatus would claim it in Aboshan's name.
The emperor would use it to solidify his grip on both the seas around Otaria and the continent itself. In turn, Laquatus would also use the artifact to strengthen his hold on Aboshan. He would continue as he had for the past several years, supplanting the churlish emperor one step at a time, bit by bit, until there would be no more need for Aboshan, his exiled wife, or any of her prying, spying, low-level functionaries.

  Laquatus stripped off the blue silken robe and began rooting around for something more dazzling. He would request an audience with the First, check on his hidden troops in the sea caves, and put Turg through his paces in the pits. Before he went to sleep that night, he intended to have seen the mysterious device with his own eyes.

  He knew that once he had seen it and determined how to make use of it, there was nothing on land or in the seas that could stop him from acquiring it.

  *****

  Chainer and Skellum were admitted to the First's study without fanfare. Deidre led them through the door, then began to skulk along the walls and shadows with the rest of the First's armed guards. The skull attendant returned to his post at the First's side. Master and pupil both waited for the First to hail them, but he simply stood staring at the pair calmly with his arms behind his back.

  "It is called the 'Mirari,' " the First said calmly. He stepped aside and presented the treasure to them with a wave of his robed arm. The First had Chainer's sphere set floating above a polished rune-silver base, which was in turn set into a small wooden stand. The entire apparatus was enclosed in a clear glass cover that fit snugly onto the stand. Lit by torches, the Mirari seemed to be floating above a floating stand inside a floating glass bubble.

  "Quite astonishing, Pater."

  Chainer simply gaped. "Mirari?" he said.

  "Mirari," the First confirmed. "It's an ancient word for a fantastic wish-granting artifact."

  Skellum stroked his thin beard. "Simply astonishing."

  "So it grants wishes?" Chainer couldn't quite pin down why that disappointed him. Perhaps because his vision had seemed so much grander than even his wildest dreams.

  "It might," the First said. "Among other things. We haven't had enough time to fully determine all its uses, but simply possessing it has given me a clearer mind and more energy than I've had in years. I'm almost aglow with good ideas lately.

  "Even as we speak, mages are on their way here to find out what I have. I can feel them coming like moths flitting above a spider's web. They don't even know what it is, yet they want it. It is part of this object's nature. They simply can't help but want it.

  "But you," he said to Chainer. "You found it, and you brought it here. You put thoughts of the Cabal and of your First before thoughts of yourself. I must ask you to do so again."

  "We are yours to command, Pater," Skellum said.

  "I am speaking to Chainer." The First came within a foot of Chainer and looked down into his eyes.

  Chainer fought the weakness in his legs, redoubled by the proximity of the First. "I am your obedient child," he said.

  "My son." The First stepped back and gazed into the Mirari. "Tomorrow, the three-day lunar games begin. The Mirari shall be in the prize cache."

  "Pater?" Skellum jumped in to prevent Chainer from doing so, but the young man simply stared calmly at the First.

  "Yes, Master Skellum?"

  Still covering for Chainer, Skellum said, "Your wisdom is unquestioned. But my ignorance is vast… What is the advantage of offering the device up to chance before we know what it can do?"

  The First stared stonily at Skellum for a long moment. Then he smiled humorlessly. "You are young, Master Skellum, and impatient. I have led the Cabal for a very long time, and served it even longer. I have seen into the hearts of men, and I have owned items of power. And I say the quest for this thing, this Mirari, will destroy many who seek its power. When their schemes are all spent and they themselves lie undone, the Cabal will be there to claim the prize once more." He crossed his arms in front, and his attendants knelt in readiness beside him. "Master Skellum, Apprentice Chainer, believe in your First. Right now there is no one on Otaria who can control the Mirari. But in time it will show us the mettle of our rivals and distinguish the smart and the strong among them from the stupid and the dead. By then, I will be ready to use it for the glory of the Cabal, and there will be no one left to interfere."

  "Truly, you are wise, Pater." Skellum said. "Isn't he wise, Chainer."

  "The First is wise," Chainer agreed dully.

  "Outstanding. There is one more thing, before I dismiss you."

  "We stand ready, Pater."

  "Tomorrow, a warrior from the mountains will arrive in the pits. He is known to the Cabalists there by reputation and by first-hand observation. They say he is quite ferocious, a champion among his own violent people. He is here undoubtedly seeking the Mirari. Of all those who are coming for it, I think he may have the single best chance of winning it."

  "Is he that good, Pater?" Chainer asked.

  "He is easily capable of earning the right to choose his prize through combat. He is also uncharacteristically intelligent for his kind and may recognize the Mirari's value among the rest of the dross. I want you," he said to Chainer, "to guide him through the competition."

  Chainer choked. "What?"

  "Introduce yourself. Help him get his bearings. Offer him some tips. I would rather he be an ally than an enemy. Besides, if he wins it in the pits, he'll lose it in the pits. In this, barbarians are exactly like the hollow-eyed gambling addicts in the casino. They have to take one more risk. Eventually, the house always wins."

  The First regarded Skellum for a moment, then turned back to Chainer. "I also want you to find out about him. Learn the measure of him. If he is a strong man, we would work with his strength, so that both he and the Cabal profit. If he is a coward or a fool, note exactly how, so that we can use it against him when the time comes. You are to study him, as you would study one of Master Skellum's lessons."

  The First's voice dropped. "Learn from this barbarian, Chainer. They look at things differently than we do. I know you're eager to fight once more on behalf of the Cabal. Look on this assignment as a gradual reintroduction to the pits. Watch this barbarian, study him, learn from him. Whether he wins or loses, gain from him."

  Chainer nodded. "I will do as you ask, Pater."

  "Master Skellum," the First said. "I have a special assignment for Chainer during this weekend's games. You will suspend your lessons starting two days from now and resume them after the games are over. During that time, he will be under my instruction."

  "By your will, Pater." Skellum said. Chainer thought Skellum sounded grim, almost hurt. "We will make full use of the time we have. I would like to start as soon as possible."

  "Of course, of course. Chainer, report to my reception desk in two days, an hour before the first horn sounds."

  "By your will, Pater." The First crossed his arms behind his back, and Chainer and Skellum bowed out.

  In the hallway, Skellum was angrier than Chainer had ever seen.

  "He knew this would disrupt my regimen," Skellum hissed. "I've warned him about the danger, but he insists on meddling…"

  "Skellum, cut it out," Chainer said nervously. "It's not so bad. I'll follow a barbarian around and see how things are these days in the pits. Maybe he'll get killed in the first bout, and my special assignment will get cut short."

  "We should be so lucky," Skellum said, and grimaced. "I'm sure he's a very nice barbarian, but still…" Chainer choked to keep from laughing in his mentor's face.

  "You shut it," Skellum said, but his rage was mellowing. "I'll be frank with you Chainer, this dementia training I'm guiding you through can really scramble your brains. A few of my ex-students are in there," he gestured back over his shoulder, "attending the First. And they don't have skulls etched on their shirts, either. Brains non-functional."

  "Well, then, I shouldn't have any trouble. The way you talk, I'm like that now."

  "You ha
ven't heard me talk yet, little brother," Skellum flicked Chainer's ear maliciously. "I wouldn't let you speak to a brain-dead flunky, much less become one. They're too good for you. Too efficient and tidy."

  Chainer laughed and ducked another of Skellum's flicks.

  "Ahh, to nine hells with you," Skellum said. "The First will have his way, and it will work out for the best, and you'll laugh at me all the while for being concerned. But do me one favor, my pupil."

  "Anything, Master."

  Skellum spun his hat and caught it with a gap in front of his face.

  "Watch and learn. Do not go into the pits. Don't pick or accept a quarrel so you can go into the pits. And don't burn any Dragon's Blood without me." Chainer didn't answer right away, and Skellum glared at him. "Do you understand?"

  Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Okay. But I want you to show me more before the games start."

  Skellum nodded. "A lot more. More smoke, more spinning, more meditation. Starting right now."

  Chainer tried to hide the secret thrill that ran up his spine. He could feel a whole horde of formidable pit fighters in his mind, just waiting for him to give them form. It would surely be worth a few days as the First's spy in order to stand at Skellum's side as a dementist in service to the Cabal. It was one more step toward the destiny that had been promised to him by the Mirari.

  CHAPTER 7

  Chainer watched the big barbarian, Kamahl, come through the entrance gate. He was some kind of local hero among the tribes who lived high up in the mountains. Chainer had heard the upper reaches of the Pardic mountains were thick with dwarves, but the big, bald barbarian towered over even the half-troll door guard.

  The pit fighter in Chainer quickly surveyed the potential challenge. Kamahl had several ragged scars along his shoulders and chest, where the skin hadn't so much healed as it had closed and then puckered like wet leather. Chainer watched him stalk his way through the crowd, maneuvering his heavy weaponry around others' like an expert. He wasn't sure what to make of the warrior, but Chainer quickly determined to never take him lightly.