“What really has me puzzled is what makes them move,” said Moira. “There’s no life in them, no aythar, yet they move like living creatures and seem to possess intelligence.”
“Awareness is a property of aythar,” agreed her father, “without it they can’t be conscious.”
Celior had been silent throughout their conversation, but he chose that moment to speak up, “They are not from this world, they come from beyond. The rules you know do not apply.”
“You named them ‘ANSIS’ before,” said the Count. “What have they told you?”
“That they are here to purify this world, to perfect it for humanity,” answered the Shining God.
“For humanity?” swore Gram. “My short time with one of them in my neck was the most terrifying experience of my life! Look at how many are dead because of them!”
Celior glanced around, noting the absence of bodies, living or dead.
“Outside the city,” growled Gram. “They slaughtered half the city’s citizens attempting to stop Moira from freeing them.”
Celior nodded, “As the case may be, I think their goals are long term. When they spoke to me their interests were always about wizards. They don’t fear losing, but they are looking for tools to use to eradicate magic and its users.”
“Why would they help you then?” asked Moira. “You are nothing but magic.”
“They seemed to base their decisions on pure rational thought. I was a means to an end. They planned to eliminate me as well, once I had served you and the remainder of the wizards to them. I have no doubt about that, for they didn’t hide the fact.”
Another thought occurred to her, “How did you change the key for your enchantment?”
“I explained how to do it to the ANSIS,” he said wryly.
Mordecai frowned, “I whispered the key in your ear, how did they get it? You couldn’t tell them the words, the enchantment precludes that.”
“They have very good hearing.”
“There was no one else in that cave with us,” insisted the Count.
Celior smiled, “They were there, in pieces you might say. I don’t understand them at all, but I can tell you that they can spread their bodies out in any way imaginable.” He paused, thinking for a second, “No, perhaps bodies is the wrong word, their ‘parts’ might be more correct. They had tiny ears in that cave, along with the weapon that nearly killed you.”
“Sounds like the shiggreth,” muttered Mordecai. “Cut off their hands and they still move. You’re saying these things can cut off their ears and use them to listen?”
“No,” said Celior. “They create ears from metal. They create eyes, and weapons, they create those things that they use to control people, but they are none of those things. They’re like a hidden spirit that controls all of them. Everything else is nothing but a collection of tools to them.”
“But there is no spirit in them,” said Moira emphatically. “There is no aythar.”
“And yet they communicate with each other,” noted Gram. “When Alyssa and I were being controlled it was clear that the parasites in each of us were coordinating with one another. They collected information from our eyes and ears and what one knew, all of them knew.”
Moira remembered her impression of them during the battle, of a vast intelligence that lay behind the actions of all the parasites controlling the city, “I felt it during the battle. When I was trying to free the citizens. I had a thousand pairs of hands and eyes and ears, and yet they knew as much as I did about every move during the city fighting.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed, focusing on her for a moment, “What did you say?”
She blanched under his gaze. What she had done to free the city was not something she wanted to discuss, but Moira had known it would come out eventually. She had planned to divert his questions, to downplay the nature of what she had done. “I would rather explain privately, Father. I had to make some tough choices.”
Gram looked away, uncomfortable but unwilling to share his own perspective on what had happened to her. Mordecai needed to know what Myra had told him, but he didn’t dare try to speak about it in front of her. He was afraid even to think about it. If she can hear my thoughts…
He could only hope the armor really did shield his mind from her.
Mordecai watched his daughter silently and as his scrutiny drew out longer she found herself growing angry. As if he has any right to judge. I shouldn’t even have to explain myself. For a moment an idle impulse crossed her mind as she looked at him—she wondered how difficult it would be to adjust his thinking. Wizard’s minds were supposedly very hard to influence, but after her experiences she thought it might be possible.
She was shocked when she realized the direction her thinking had gone; shocked and ashamed. Reflexively she looked at her hand. It was still normal, but in her imagination she saw again the claws. What’s happening to me?
“We can talk about it later,” said her father. “For now there seem to be more pressing matters.” His tone was reassuring but Moira knew he wouldn’t forget.
“The others are waiting for us outside the city,” she suggested.
“I’d like one of them to study before we leave,” said Mordecai.
“There seemed to be no end of them down there,” remarked Gram, nodding toward the ruined house.
“Just what I was thinking,” agreed the Count. “One moment.” He began picking his way carefully back through the wreckage. Soon he was lost to sight but Moira’s magesight followed him as he went back down. In the places where the stairs had been ruined her father flew, making the act look easy.
Most wizards didn’t fly, not without an aid or device of some kind, it was a delicate art that could easily result in death or serious injury, but Mordecai had mastered it during his year as an undead immortal.
When he returned a few minutes later he carried a heavy iron cube. It was approximately a foot on each side and hollow. There was no opening, no hinge or lid, but one of the metal parasites was inside. Moira knew without asking that he had had the earth construct the container around his captured prize.
She also noted that he wasn’t actually carrying it with his arms, he was using his magic to levitate the cube, his hands were merely guiding it as he walked. The iron sides of his box were at least an inch thick, which made the box very cumbrous.
Gram had very traditional notions about his role in the Illeniel household. “Let me carry that for you, my lord,” he offered at once.
Moira opened her mouth to warn him but her father winked at her before handing the box over, “Thank you, Gram.” Naturally he stopped supporting its weight with his power at the same time.
The young man’s chest tightened and he grunted a bit as his arms and shoulders stiffened under the unexpectedly large load. The box weighed at least as much as a grown man, if one could be squeezed into such a small space.
Mordecai’s face fell as Gram took the burden without complaint. “You’re stouter than you look, son,” he commented, “and that’s saying something.”
“Actually, it’s ‘Sir Gram’ now, Father,” corrected Moira. “Mother knighted him for saving Irene.”
The Count gave Gram a serious look, “There’s a story there I’m sure. I’ll want to hear the rest of it later. Dorian would be proud.” His eyes were watching the young man’s arms and shoulders, noting the ease with which he managed the weight. He looked askance at Moira. Obviously he was wondering if Gram had somehow been given the earthbond.
“Dragons, Father,” she said, answering his unspoken question, “and his sword.”
Mordecai nodded at Cassandra, “I thought perhaps she was yours.”
“I am,” rumbled the dragon, “but Grace is bonded to him.”
“Grace? Your little bear?”
“She isn’t so small anymore,” said Moira. She made a brief explanation but she could see her father’s eyes continually straying to stare at Gram’s sword while she spoke.
“I
s that Thorn?” he asked, looking puzzled. “What’s happened to it? That’s not the enchantment I put on it…”
Gram grinned, “Matthew made some improvements.” He demonstrated by making the sword shift forms, from great sword to one hander and shield.
The Count’s eyes widened as Thorn flew apart and reassembled with extra pieces of metal appearing from empty air to complete the shield. “That’s marvelous! And your armor, did he do that as well? Where is the metal coming from? I don’t recognize the magic at all.”
“The armor is part of the sword’s enchantment,” said Gram. “I don’t understand how it works, of course. Matthew calls it ‘translation’.”
Mordecai nodded, “That was the trans-dimensional magic he was working on. He showed me a pouch he designed a while back with it.” He shook his head, “My son has surpassed me.”
Moira felt a pang of envy. Meanwhile your daughter has become a monster. She tried to suppress the dark feelings welling from her heart as she changed the subject, “We should rejoin the others.”
Her father nodded again, “You’re right. Let me clean this up first. This building still holds many more of those creatures.” He turned to face the rubble that remained of the Earl of Berlagen’s once beautiful city home. Closing his eyes he grew silent.
Moira didn’t sense any aythar moving, but her magesight felt the movement beneath them. The earth was shifting and hot magma was moving upward, summoned from deep below. Halam wasn’t located near any active volcanoes, but that apparently didn’t matter. The molten rock came at her father’s silent command.
The air grew hot as it bubbled up, swallowing the collapsed stone walls and causing the timbers scattered within the wreckage to burst into flames. Smoke and ash billowed forth and yet the fire that rose with it didn’t spread. Minutes passed and then the lava subsided. The ruins would likely continue to smoke for days but she could sense that the magma beneath them had stopped moving and begun to subside.
She and Gram rode Cassandra, but Mordecai elected to fly on his own beside them. He seemed to enjoy it, looping around them through the air effortlessly, moving as gracefully through the air as a dolphin might in its native seas.
His manner grew somber once they passed beyond the city and flew over the bloodied plain; his flight lost all trace of its former playfulness as he saw the thousands lying dead below. Gerold and Alyssa waved to them, they had been exploring, searching the faces of the dead. Moira didn’t see Chad, but her magesight found him easily enough, sitting where they had left him. He appeared to be fiddling with the arrows he had recovered, probably seeing which ones were worth salvaging and which were beyond repair.
Cassandra landed near the Baron and Alyssa, taking care not to step on the bodies, although there were so many it was difficult. Mordecai drifted down to a spot beside Alyssa.
She dipped her head respectfully, curtsying briefly when she recognized the Count, “Your Excellency, it is good to see you are well and in good health.”
Gerold looked on with curiosity, “Count?”
Alyssa responded, “This is Moira’s father, the Count di’Cameron.”
The Baron’s face blanched with shock and he hastily dipped his head and gave a quarter bow, precisely the correct show of deference to show a senior member of a foreign peerage, “It is good to make your acquaintance, Your Lordship. I could wish that we had met under more favorable circumstances.” He gave Alyssa a meaningful glance.
“Oh!” she said, remembering her manners. “Your Excellency, allow me to introduce his Lordship, the Baron Ingerhold of Dunbar.”
Mordecai smiled mildly, “Thank you, Alyssa.” There were even more questions in his eyes as he looked at her. He had last seen her in Castle Cameron, before her abrupt departure, and he had yet to learn of her other transgressions.
Gram moved to stand protectively beside her, his posture making it clear that whatever had passed between them, he had accepted her return.
The Count made silent note of Gram’s stance as he addressed Gerold formally, “I am happy to meet you, Baron Ingerhold. I also wish it could have been during better times. Allow me to extend Lothion’s sympathies for what has obviously been a very trying time for your countrymen.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency,” said Gerold. “Despite the tragedy, I must tell you that your daughter’s actions saved a great many people today. These deaths are the responsibility of the strange creatures that lately attempted to gain control of my country.”
“Please, call me Mordecai,” said the Count. “If it is permissible, I would extend whatever aid to your people that we can. Lothion has long desired to improve its relationship with Dunbar. Though these are trying times, perhaps we can make some good come of this.”
“Call me Gerold then,” agreed the Baron, “and I will consider it an honor. Do you speak for the Queen of Lothion?”
Mordecai shook his head, “I do not, but I know her well. I am certain that once she learns what has transpired here she will wish to do everything possible to give aid to your people.”
Gerold nodded, “I would that I had the power to accept your offer, but my king is dead. I will have to confer with my peers.”
“Gerold!” said Moira menacingly. “You should consider your position more carefully.”
Her father looked askance at her, “Don’t be rude. Is there something we should know?”
“Gerold has shown himself to be a champion of his people,” she said confidently. “They will clamor for him to take the throne.”
“They appear to be sleeping at the moment,” said Mort, noting the living but unconscious people scattered among the dead.
“I am not in line for the throne,” added Gerold.
“Father,” interjected Moira, “This is something we should talk about privately.”
“There seems to be a lot of that,” noted Mordecai. “Let’s go home. We can discuss it there and start organizing some help for these people. I’m sure Penny is worried about us too.”
The baron was surprised, “It will take weeks to get to Lothion.” He glanced at Cassandra then, rethinking his statement, “Or days at least.”
“On dragon-back—probably, although I think I could do better than that. Either way, flying won’t be necessary,” said Mordecai. Turning to Moira he asked, “Have you already set up a circle, or do we need to make one?”
Moira looked away, embarrassed, she had known this question was coming, “I haven’t made one.”
Her father nodded, “Well, no better time than now. I’d suggest making one that links to the large circle in the castle courtyard so we can move more people, plus we can make a large one for the return to bring supplies and such.”
She had been hoping he would make it. “Actually, I don’t remember the key for it.”
Mort frowned, “I had you memorize it.”
“I forgot.” Moira’s ears were burning and her anger began to return.
“I’ve told you how important it is to learn them. If you had forgotten it, you should have refreshed your memory before making a trip so far from home. What did you plan to do if there was an emergency…?”
Her eyes were on one of the corpses nearby. If she had known the circle keys she could have returned home at any point, and come back with help. She wouldn’t have had to work alone, or done some of the things she had done. A lot of people might not have died. “There was an emergency, Father,” she replied bitterly. “I did the best I could. Perhaps you’d rather I…”
No! Moira stop, don’t!
That was Myra, warning her to mind her tongue once again. She had been about to suggest she could have left her father in the stone if he didn’t like her solution. Despite the advice, she struggled to contain her temper.
Mordecai’s face softened, “Forgive me. You’ve been through a lot. I’ll make the circle, but I want you to watch.” He began walking, looking for a sheltered place to create the sizeable teleportation circle.
Chapter 27
&
nbsp; When Moira and her father reappeared they were standing in what had come to be known as the ‘transfer house’. It was a large barn-like structure in the courtyard of Castle Cameron, built to house the various teleportation circles. They had learned during a prior war that keeping them in the castle proper was a bad idea, since a magically gifted enemy that discovered the keys to one of them, or found a working circle that connected to one of them, would then have access to their stronghold.
Given the risk, the transfer house was guarded around the clock.
She couldn’t remember the full name of the man that peered at them in astonishment, but she knew his first name was Doug.
“My Lord!” shouted the guardsman as recognition appeared on his features. Before either of them could react he ducked out the door and shouted at the guard stationed there, “Jerod! The Count and Moira have returned, run and tell the Countess!” At no point did his voice drop below what could reasonably considered ‘bellowing’.
“Shit,” said her father, smiling at her. “You know what will happen now.”
Moira wasn’t really sure on that count. She and her brother had left under cover of darkness, and while she had been there when her father had returned from his year as a monster, she had no idea whether her mother would be angry or relieved when she saw her. Probably both, she thought.
“Matthew and I left without telling her,” she informed her father.
Mort raised one brow, “Oh. This will be very interesting.” He took her hand and led her out into the waning daylight.
Claude, the chief cook for the castle stood outside beside Doug, watching them expectantly as they emerged. The heavy basket he carried meant he had probably been collecting herbs for the kitchen. “My lord!” he exclaimed every bit as loudly as Doug had a moment before, dipping his head in a rare gesture of fealty. Mordecai normally forbade the inhabitants from bowing and curtsying on a daily basis, but long absences were different. “Lady Moira,” added the cook a second later.