Alutar: The Great Demon (11 page)

“It is obvious to me that Lord Kommoron is staging a coup against Emperor Jaar,” explained Franco. “If he has designs on controlling the Federation, is it too far a leap to think he might also seek more control over the individual countries of the Federation?”

“Certainly not,” agreed Issa, “but he is not the one contracting with us. Our other clients appear to have valid desires of their own.”

“Lord Kommoron is not above deceit and treachery,” Franco pointed out. “What if Lord Kommoron is manipulating the other clients into taking the very actions that he desires himself?”

“That is possible,” admitted Issa, “and even probable, but I can’t help wondering if there is another explanation. There could be another player in this game, and if there is, I want to know who it is. Sniff around and see what you can find out.”

* * * *

The eight mages sat on the shore of the Sea of Tears, ending another day of their journey northward. The meal had already been devoured and they were deep into what had become their favorite evening game. They were joined together in the task of controlling a whirlwind in the sand. They were becoming proficient enough at working together that they only paid slight attention to the activity as they talked to one another. Sometimes one of the mages would speed up the process or alternate it slightly to catch the others off guard, but it was a friendly game. Once in a while one of the mages would pay just a bit less attention than was necessary, and that mage ended up with his feet covered in sand and the rest of the group laughing at his expense.

Unexpectedly, Fakir Aziz spoke loud enough for all to hear. “What is fear?” he asked.

The others looked at him in confusion, and the whirlwind began to falter. It had not helped that the Mage had relinquished his cooperation the very moment he asked the question. There was an awkward moment of silence as the other mages adjusted their magic to stabilize the whirlwind.

“It is an irrational feeling of impending doom,” stated Kalmar.

“It need not be irrational,” corrected Zynor. “There are many valid reasons for being fearful.”

“I agree with Zynor,” added Atule. “No matter how powerful we are, there will come a time when we bite off more than we can chew. It would not be irrational to acknowledge our weakness at that time.”

“I think that Kalmar was referring to the usefulness of fear,” interjected Valera. “While each of us might know fear at one time or another, such a feeling accomplishes nothing. It does not increase our skills or our chances of survival. Therefore the emotion is irrational because it is without function.”

“Yet fear does have its uses,” Crystil said softly. “The pillar that I created at Smirka used fear to deter entry to the village. The black-cloaks also utilize that emotion to keep people at bay.”

“The question was not whether fear was useful or not,” frowned Dorforun. “The question was whether the feeling of fear was irrational.”

“Actually,” interjected Eulena, “the question was, ‘What is fear?’ I think we have inadvertently answered the question by stating that it is an emotion, often a crippling emotion.”

 
Fakir Aziz smiled at the elf. “Whether fear is rational or irrational is irrelevant at the moment. Fear can be a disabling emotion if we let it take hold of us. I would like to hear from each of you as to how you would combat overwhelming fear should it strike you.”

Fakir Aziz reached down and picked up the staff he was fashioning. He knew that a long night was ahead of him as the other mages stared blankly at one another.

Captain Marez entered the estate of Sidney Mercado just outside of Ur and called for Karl Gree as he headed for the dining room where the leaders of the Tyronian Patriots usually met. Karl and Althea heard the call and entered the building from the rear porch. As they entered the dining room, the captain unrolled a long paper and spread it over the table.

“This was found in the home of an old stone mason,” Marez said excitedly. “The plans are from a renovation made to the Old Keep over fifty years ago.”

Karl and Althea approached the table eagerly, and Karl sat down to examine the plans. Althea stood behind Karl and peered over his shoulder.

“Are they accurate?” asked the Knight of Alcea.

“The old man does not know,” answered Captain Marez. “The plans belonged to his father, but they must be better than nothing. They are the only trace we have found of what the Old Keep looks like inside.”

“They do not cover the entire keep,” frowned Althea as she leaned past Karl and pointed to the paper. “See how the lines extend off the paper. There must be more of the drawing.”

“Not in the old man’s house,” the captain shook his head. “He searched the place thoroughly after he realized what he had found. This is all we will get.”

“Then this will have to do,” Karl stated with a slight sigh. “Let’s see what we can learn.”

They spent the next hour examining the plans, Karl and the captain freely exchanging thoughts of what they were seeing. Althea remained silent. Although her attention was fully centered on the plans, her hands roved over Karl’s back and shoulders in a subconscious massage.

“I am hungry,” Captain Marez said with a look towards his sister.

“Karl and I already ate,” Althea responded without looking up at her brother. “There is some venison in the kitchen and half a loaf of bread. Help yourself to it.”

Captain Marez sighed with disappointment, but he rose to his feet and left the room. Without realizing what she was doing, Althea’s hands began to massage Karl’s neck, and the Knight of Alcea suddenly became aware of the closeness of the woman. He reached up and pushed her hands away. Althea suddenly became aware of the rejection, and she stood up straight and stared at the Alcean.

“What?” she asked angrily.

“Why don’t you sit at the table and review the plans like the rest of us,” suggested Karl.

“So I can’t touch you?” scowled Althea. “I love you. Is that so bad?”

“Yes, it is bad. We have to concentrate on these plans. Our time is drawing near, and we still don’t have a way to get into that keep.”

“So,” she spat, “it is bad for me to love you. Do you hate me so much that you cannot bear my being near you?”

Karl rose angrily and stared at the woman. “I do not hate you, Althea. I love you, and that is the problem. I have already told you that I am a married man. I have a wife back home in Alcea, and I love her, too. Lyda might not be much of a wife to me right now, but I made a vow to her, and I will never break that vow. When you get so close to me, I cannot handle it. My desire for you tortures me, but I will not yield to it. There can never be anything between you and me. Do you understand? Never.”

Althea started crying, and Karl stormed out of the room. A few minutes later, Captain Marez returned and halted in the doorway. He saw his sister crying and noticed that Karl Gree was gone.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The Knight of Alcea just told me to die.”

“Karl would never say that to you,” scoffed the captain. “He loves you. What really happened?”

“He has told me that we shall never be together. It is the same thing. I would die for that man, and he rejects me because I make him feel uncomfortable.”

“He is married, Althea,” soothed the captain. “You know that. He has always been open and honest with us. You must know the type of man it takes to become a Knight of Alcea. His character must be impeccable. He could no more walk out on his wife than he could walk out of the coming struggle here in Tyronia.”

“I know,” sobbed Althea, “but he can walk out on me. I do not matter to him.”

“You are being unfair to him,” Captain Marez said sadly. “We are all likely to die in the next couple of weeks. Do not rile him up now when his thoughts are needed elsewhere. If we don’t find a way into the Old Keep soon, thousands of Tyronians will die. Let Karl and me do our work alone for a while. Deal with your emotions after our country is free again.”

“When Tyronia is free,” retorted Althea, “the Knight of Alcea will leave us and return to his wife.”

“Only if he survives the entry into the Old Keep and his battle with K’san. Sadly, I don’t think Karl Gree will ever leave Tyronia.”

* * * *

Max Caber stood in the office of the Mercado warehouse in Calusa. Piled on the desk in front of him were the articles he needed for his mission. He strapped several pouches to his belt and began filling the pouches with the articles on the desktop. Almost as an afterthought, he retrieved a pouch of Lanoirian throwing stars and attached that to his belt as well. He removed a small quiver of myric quills from his pack and attached that to his belt, leaving his pack on the desk. When he was sure that he had everything that he needed, he pulled on the cloak of invisibility that the Mage had given him. He eased the office door open and peered into the hallway. No one was in sight.

The Ranger descended the stairs into the warehouse. Hundreds of Karamin patriots and Rhodan warriors were at work in the warehouse putting the final touches on one of Max’s inventions. None of the people present in the warehouse would have said anything about Max walking through the large building, but the Ranger wanted to test his stealthiness on them before depending upon it when it mattered. He moved slowly and cautiously across the cavernous room, deftly sidestepping when a collision with another person seemed imminent. In an agonizingly slow dance across the floor, Max managed to get to the doors of the warehouse, but they were closed and manned by guards. The projects in the warehouse required secrecy, and the doors would not open casually. Fortunately, Max was a patient man.

The Ranger stood near the door, but not close enough for his breathing to be heard. When he saw two men heading towards the door, he maneuvered so that he was right behind the last man. The door only opened long enough for the workers to pass through, but it was enough for Max. He stuck close to the last man and still felt the air of the closing door. He mentally noted the need to stay very close to people going through doors. Once outside the warehouse, he moved to one side of the doors and halted to visualize his path to the castle. The warehouse he had purchased for Sidney Mercado was right next to the castle, but there was no entrance on the side of the castle, only a wide open space and a ditch that used to serve as a moat. A metal fence ran around the entire castle, creating a barren zone where anyone walking would be fired upon. Max had to walk through the city streets and approach the front of the castle.

The Ranger moved slowly along the streets of the city until he came to the front gates of the fence. The gates were manned by two guards who spent most of their time talking to one another. The Ranger halted and waited patiently. Over an hour passed before a colonel approached the gates. Max moved silently into position. When the gates opened to admit the colonel, Max passed through behind him. The Ranger followed the colonel along the path through the barren zone and through the doors to the castle itself. Once inside the castle, Max halted and let the colonel move on alone. The Ranger had a fair knowledge of the layout of the castle. For months he had been inserting Rhodan warriors into the castle as hired staff, and they had helped him create a rather detailed map of most of the floors. His first task of the day was to verify as much of the map as he could. With slow measured steps, the Ranger strode deeper into the castle.

Most of the people on the ground floor moved about slowly, and Max had little trouble hugging the wall to allow them ample room to pass, but occasionally a runner appeared without warning. One such runner necessitated that the Ranger move too quickly to do so quietly. Max scuffed his boot moving out of the way, and the runner halted. The young man turned and looked around, confusion and concern etched into his face. Max stood deathly still, one foot still in the air. The runner eventually shook his head and took off running. From that point forward, Max avoided the center of the corridors and kept close to one wall or the other.

As Max was finishing up his tour of the ground floor, a door ahead of him opened. Max immediately halted. A shiver of fear raced up his spine as K’san stepped out of the doorway not five paces in front of the Ranger. Knowing that he had left his enchanted blade inside the warehouse, Max could only try to calm himself and remain still. The demonkin started to walk away and suddenly halted, as if some unexplainable sense had issued a warning. K’san turned slowly around, squinting into the dimly-lit corridor as if trying to see something that should not be seen. Max’s hand moved slowly towards the hidden myric quills hidden under his cloak, but he knew he could never get to them without revealing at least a glimpse of his clothing as the folds of the cloak parted to admit his hand. Knowing the futility of his movement, the Ranger froze. The seconds crawled by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and Max suddenly realized that he was holding his breath. Fearful of even the slightest noise, the Ranger continued to hold his breath, hoping the demonic priest would move away.

As if in answer to prayer, K’san suddenly lost interest in his sense of danger. The priest turned and strode off along the corridor. Max slowly exhaled. He stood still for another few minutes, trying to regulate his breathing before heading for the stairway to the upper levels. The Ranger spent the next three hours mapping the second level. There were fewer people moving about the second level, and the Ranger had to fight the feeling of being complacent about his scouting mission. As he entered the library on the second level, he noticed the sun through the window. Knowing that it was nearing mealtime, he backed out of the library and made for the stairway. His second mission was about to begin.

The castle had a main armory below ground level, but it also had one small armory on each of the other levels to make additional arms available in the event of an attack. One of the duties of the armory guard was to check each armory on a daily basis. It was an easy and sought-after task as it required little work and even less supervision. The current holder of the job had been one of the earliest supporters of King Vlador. He had served in Vlador’s unit when the prince had been a military commander. His reward had been the coveted position of armory guard, and the man had adapted well, according to the Rhodan warriors who knew his schedule. Every evening the guard had his meal delivered to the small armory on the third floor so that he did not have to put up with the mob in the soldiers’ dining room.