Mordecai

  It was a puppy. Its short tale curled over its back as it wiggled and tried to lick my face again. Valiantly, I defended myself while trying to sit up. If there was to be any frolicking this morning, it would be of an entirely different sort than I had hoped. “Where did this come from?” I asked.

  She smiled, “It was a gift from the new king of Dunbar. Isn’t he adorable?”

  “He’s something all right,” I agreed.

  “Pick him up. He wants you to love on him,” she commanded.

  And yes, it was a command. Don’t ever let women fool you. When they tell you to pet or snuggle with something it’s very much an order. To not do so would see you labeled a ‘grump’ or something similarly unsavory.

  Feigning weak enthusiasm, I lifted the puppy to my chest and stroked his head, all the while considering what sort of punishment I could visit on Gerold Ingerhold of Dunbar. He had obviously done this with some malign intent to disrupt my quiet household. I was rewarded with more licking and a warm sensation spreading across my chest.

  “Oh my!” giggled Penny. “He peed on you!”

  I gave her my best long-suffering look. “Well that’s what babies do, isn’t it? Why don’t you give me a hug?” I leaned toward her with a wicked gleam in my eye.

  Penny was too quick. She was up and out of the bed before I could complete the gesture. “Maybe after you change your shirt.”

  Sighing, I gave the puppy a serious look, “You don’t want me to change my shirt do you?”

  “His name is Humphrey,” said Penny.

  Life was perfect. I had only recently been lamenting that my kids were all too old to pee on people anymore. Now we had a dog. “That’s the best name you could come up with?” I asked.

  “Moira liked it,” explained my wife. “I know you weren’t expecting this, but she does love animals. I’m hoping he’ll help her.”

  “She can make magic dogs with just a thought,” I argued. “Dogs that can talk, and don’t pee on anyone.”

  “It isn’t the same thing at all,” said Penny.

  She was probably right. Setting little Humphrey on the floor, I removed my nightshirt and used my power and some water from the washbasin to rinse my chest.

  Humphrey watched without comment.

  That done, I headed for the door. “Come on Humphrey, let’s go get some breakfast.” The puppy waddled a few feet and then sat down, emitting a yip of mild distress. Apparently, he wasn’t up to speed on the art of following someone yet. I went back and picked him up. “Obviously, you’ve got some things to learn,” I told him. “And if you’re smart, you’ll pay attention to me. The women around here will teach you all sorts of bad habits.”

  “Too bad,” said Penny. “You’re supposed to inspect the progress on the gatehouse in Halam today. Humphrey will have to stay here and learn tricks from the girls.”

  I hadn’t wanted to remember that.

  Chapter 3

  Getting to Dunbar wasn’t that difficult anymore, thanks to the World-Road. After my daughter had started a rebellion and gotten their machine-possessed king killed, the new king had been of a different mind when it came to opening up to the world. Of course, she had almost single-handedly gotten him made king, so perhaps he felt he owed her a few favors.

  In any case, Dunbar had agreed to allow me to open one of the gateways from the World-Road near their capital city of Halam. It was a good deal all around. The gateways made it easy for farmers and traders to sell their wares across widely scattered locations around Lothion, Gododdin, and now Dunbar. Prosperity was an inevitable result.

  There were precautions of course. One of the big selling points of my design was security. Most of the World-Road itself was underground, near Lothion, and guarded by a massive fortification. From a central location within the structure any of the twenty-three gates (not all of them were in use yet) could be closed at a moment’s notice. If the command was given, a massive monolith of stone driven by one of my enchantments would slide down, sealing the entrance.

  Those stones were designed to be unstoppable, and as far as I knew, they were. One of them had killed my best friend, Dorian Thornbear. It was something I tried hard not to think about every time I stepped onto the underground road.

  Not only were the gates able to be sealed, but the road itself was a circle, and it could be divided into sections, each able to be sealed should an invader manage to make it past one of the gateways. Once closed, the road could be flooded, via an enchanted gate that led to a portal I had placed in the ocean. If that wasn’t sufficient, my last fail-safe was even more severe. Another ring gate led to an underground magma reservoir. If that one were used the World-Road would reach the end of its functional lifespan.

  After a life filled with danger, I had become a cautious man.

  Of course, as I had later learned, too much caution can be a trap as well. My design, my fail-safes, all had been used to in an attempt to kill my family, and only the sacrifice made by my best friend had saved them.

  “Dammit,” I swore, wiping at my cheeks. “I wasn’t going to think about that.”

  It happened every time I walked the World-Road. Being underground one might expect it to be dark, but it wasn’t. It was brightly lit, almost cheerful. I had included enchanted ceiling lights in the design.

  I passed several wagons on the road as I walked, nodding to the drivers. They had no idea who I was, of course. As a matter of course, I always traveled incognito, and illusion was a handy tool for that. Today I was a grey-bearded farmer, or perhaps a craftsman. I would remove the illusion once I arrived at my destination, becoming once again the handsome and well-dressed Count di’ Cameron.

  I would only need the disguise for perhaps a quarter of an hour. The transfer house in Castle Cameron had a circle that led directly to the main tower situated within the World-Road. Once there I had only to descend a multitude of stairs and then walk a quarter mile or so of the road itself, until I reached the new gate that led to Halam.

  At some point in the past, Penny had argued with me about traveling without guards, but I had prevailed upon her that I was safer disguised and alone. I didn’t really even need the disguise; I just disliked all the bowing and formalities that inevitably ensued when people recognized me.

  I paused as I passed the gate that led to Lancaster. Dorian’s Gate, as it was called now. I hadn’t had to issue an official decree, people had just started calling it that. And well they should, I thought sadly. As always, I looked up, staring at the triangular edge that composed the bottom of the monolith that had crushed my friend.

  It was unmarked. Its integrity unquestioned. Even my best friend’s diamond body hadn’t been able to scratch it. There had been some white dust there once, remnants of his body after the gate had crushed it, but even that was gone now.

  Legends had grown up about the event. Sometimes they called him the ‘Diamond-Knight’, but mostly they just called him Dorian the Adamant. Ballads and epic sagas had been composed in his honor. He had held the gate up for several minutes, while his wife, children, and my family, had escaped through it. Until it had crushed him into diamond-dust and gravel.

  That he had done so still made me marvel. The stone that comprised the gate weighed thousands of tons, and it had behind it the force of an enchantment powered by the God-Stone. He shouldn’t have been able to hold it that long.

  But he did.

  “Fuck me.” I should have gone the other way around. It was a longer walk, but I never went that direction. I came this way to remember, or perhaps to punish myself. He had been there when I should have been.

  Stupid never dies, I thought. But Dorian certainly had. He lived on in the hearts and minds of people across the kingdom, in songs and stories. He had become a legend.

  Well, in all honestly, so had I, but mine was a much darker sort of legend. In some parts of the world I was called the ‘Blood Lord.’ Mostly because of what had happened in the Duchy of Tremont. Thousands had died there, their souls
devoured and their bodies left to rot.

  The bodies were long gone but men still feared to live there, though the land was fertile and vacant.

  I hadn’t actually been the one who sent the shiggreth there, that had been my spell-twin, but I had his memories. I remembered ordering it. I felt the guilt.

  And all I had gotten for it was a brief flogging. I had also paid a fortune in gold to the families of those that were murdered. It still felt like an empty gesture to me.

  In places with kinder words for me, I was called the ‘God-slayer,’ but that was the most complimentary thing anyone ever managed to say. There was still fear in the eyes of anyone who realized who I was. The only exceptions were my family members, and most of the people who lived in Washbrook or the castle-proper.

  And Penny wondered why I preferred to travel disguised.

  I wasn’t afraid of being attacked. I was afraid of being recognized. I couldn’t bear the sight of fear, loathing, and disgust that I saw in the faces of those around me.

  Penny saw it differently, and she was firmly convinced that if people knew the truth, they would see it the same way. But I knew the truth, and if Penny knew it, she would have been afraid of me too.

  I had seen the void, touched it, and returned. And some part of it still existed inside of me.

  Archmages were special. We could hear the voices of things that no one else could, the earth, the wind, the sea, anything really. We could listen, become, and direct those things, in a way that was wholly different from normal wizardry. But those things left an impression on us.

  I was the only one who had ever heard the voice of the void, and I still heard it. It whispered to me in the dark at night. It haunted my dreams when I slept. It called to me from the lips of the elderly and the dying. Sometimes I could even feel it in small children.

  The best times were at home with my family. I could forget, in the midst of my children’s chaos, or when Penny smiled, amidst the laughter, and the smell of dinner; at those times I felt whole again.

  Shaking off the dark thoughts I kept walking and soon the gateway to Halam loomed ahead to my left. It hadn’t been hard to activate. The World-Road was built with twenty-three gates. I had only had to construct the other side and link it to this one. What was taking more time was completing the security construction for Dunbar’s side.

  In order to allay the fears of the nations and cities that had accepted one of the gates, each was built with fortifications on both sides. This allowed each city to close their side if they felt the need. Every gate had a gatehouse at its destination, though in truth, some of them were closer to full-blown fortresses.

  I stepped through into brilliant sunshine, dropping my illusion and squinting to shield my eyes as I emerged from the more modest lighting of the World-Road. Workmen were everywhere around me. Most of them were stone masons, but carpenters and blacksmiths were present as well. Not to mention a multitude of apprentices and unskilled laborers.

  With my illusion gone my black leather garb was on full display. It was an outfit that I had had made when I faced trial for my crimes after the war with the shiggreth and the gods, dark and shining. The leather was soft and supple, tooled with runes for protection, but what made it so fearsome was the design and the colors; black and red, with no allowance for the maroon and gold of House Cameron. The coat had an aggressive cut, trimmed with a red meant to remind the viewer of fresh blood.

  If men wanted to call me the Blood Lord, I had determined to look the part.

  I never wore it at home, or in Washbrook. My people still loved me, in the main, but for the rest of the world the outfit was a symbol that said, “Go to hell.”

  Being an amiable man, people had underestimated me for most of my life. These days, my reputation made that unlikely, but sometimes my smile and easy words made them forget. The clothes were a reminder.

  Since we were at peace, and I was no longer a criminal, Penny generally disapproved of my choice in attire.

  But here I was, wearing it anyway. Did I mention that I’m stubborn?

  Angus McElroy spotted me and came over. He was my man, a master mason by trade. He had been with me a long time and now made his home in Washbrook. In short, he wasn’t afraid of me, like most of those around me were.

  “Milord,” he said, dipping his head almost casually. “I see you wore your finest again.”

  He was in charge of the building efforts and his men watched him, wondering if he would be punished for his familiar attitude. I stared at them until they noticed my eyes on them and looked away, afraid of meeting my gaze.

  We walked a short distance away, and he gave me an exasperated look, “Do you have to do that every time?”

  “Do what?”

  “Frighten them. They’ll be tellin’ stories to scare each other tonight,” he answered.

  My walk down memory lane had left me feeling cranky, and a lot of thoughts passed through my mind. I had overthrown a tyrant, made a good man king, defeated an army of the dead, fought every god known, and helped resurrect a dead race. And after it all, the world had turned its back on me. Actually, it had turned my back on it, and put a set of bloody stripes across my shoulders. I still bore the scars as a reminder.

  If I had had my way, the County Cameron would be an isolated nation, and the world could go hang, but it was forever drawing me back.

  None of that was Dunbar’s fault, of course. In truth, it was no one’s fault. But I was cranky, and in no mood to be reasonable. “History has painted me as a devil, Angus, I only do my best to live up to the part.”

  He sighed.

  “How goes the work?” I asked.

  “It’s a lot easier than that dam you and your Dad had me build,” he said with a chuckle.

  Another bad memory, though Angus probably thought it would make me laugh. My father was dead, and while remembering him no longer hurt, what I had done with the dam was another stain on my soul. I had used it to drown an army of thirty thousand.

  People like Angus didn’t see it that way. To them, it had been an act of heroism, but then, they didn’t have the blood of a generation on their hands. I gave him a faint smile anyway. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him any of that. Angus was a decent man, and he was doing excellent work, as always.

  “Do you need anything?” I asked him, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  “Well…”

  Of course, he did. That was the nature of major construction projects. I trusted Angus to get things done properly and without waste, either of time or materials. He trusted me to ensure he got what he needed to do the job.

  As he talked I made mental notes. I didn’t need paper, my freakishly perfect memory did the trick. Later I would send orders to Albamarl to have what he needed shipped to him through the World-Road. It made so many things easier these days.

  Angus looked nothing like my father, but something about him reminded me of him. Something about every craftsman I met reminded me of my father in some way. The pragmatism, concrete thinking, and no-nonsense attitude that had been so central to Royce Eldridge was present to some degree in almost every man who worked with his hands for a living. As always, I wished I had been more like him.

  My father’s birthday had been just six days ago and something at the back of my mind niggled at me about that. Something I should remember.

  That was the problem with memory, perfect or otherwise. I could recall anything, once I knew what I was trying to recall, but sometimes you just didn’t know what you needed to remember.

  I pushed it aside. Whatever it was would come to me later. Probably while I was moving my bowels. Most important things popped into my head then.

  Angus was still talking. I returned my attention to him. He was waiting for a reply. Mentally I reviewed what he had said, since I hadn’t been listening fully. His last question had been, “Is something wrong? You seem distracted.”

  Nodding I answered, “I was just thinking that I may have eaten too much for b
reakfast.”

  He grinned, “The latrines are over there if you need ‘em.” He pointed in the direction of the makeshift wooden building they had built for the purpose.

  “I’m not quite ready yet,” I told him. “Maybe after I get to Albamarl and order what you need.”

  “That road you built is changing the world,” he said. “I can work here for ten hours and then take a crap in any of a dozen cities at the end of the day, if I want to.” Angus laughed to punctuate his joke.

  The thought of walking past Dorian’s Gate again wasn’t pleasant. “I think I’ll fly today,” I told him.

  The mason frowned, “Even flying, it’s hundreds of miles from here to the capital.”

  Shaping my aythar I slowly lifted myself from the ground, “When I put my mind to it, Angus, I can fly so fast that even falcons weep to see me leave them behind.”

  He said something I couldn’t hear; he was too far below and the wind was already rushing around me. It might have been ‘suit yourself’ or something along those lines, but I hardly cared. Flying was just the thing to lift the shadows from my soul.

  It was my perfect pleasure, the counterpoint of my existence that stood in opposition to the voice of the void. Flying was a talent that any wizard was technically capable of, but none tried to do it the way I did. Gareth Gaelyn would shapechange, others would use a protective construct, but no wizard who wanted to keep living would fly using only their raw ability to shape aythar.

  The reason was simple. It was dangerous. Over the past two thousand years, most wizards who attempted it wound up killing themselves, or at the very minimum acquired injuries that made them rethink their choices.

  It wasn’t hard, but it took practice. Since most learning requires mistakes, and these mistakes were usually fatal, I was the only living wizard who flew this way. I had been unfortunate enough to be trapped in an undead body for a year, and during my time as an immortal I had taken the opportunity to learn. Crashing into a mountain wasn’t so bad when you felt no pain and your body would reform on its own.