Gemworld (52 page)

A sonic boom?!?
Sal laughed out loud at the absurdity of the notion. He’d been awake way too long and he was starting to get loopy. How in the world could Keth implode? That kind of thing went against the laws of physics, even against what little he knew about the magic of this world. His laughter trailed off as the words from another lifetime came to him.

When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Sherlock Holmes.

What
is
impossible in this world? He had to admit that he didn’t know. Healing mangled eyes was impossible until he came here. And what about the diamond that had taken its place? Wasn’t there only supposed to be six Tiles, six soulgems? The fact than
something
imploded was obvious. And no matter how badly he wanted to, Sal just couldn’t just chalk this one up to impossibility.

He looked into the mound of ash, his amethyst vision stripping away the inches, layer by dusty layer, to see if there was anything he might have missed. He could see the signature of Keth’s aura, plain as day, but it was indistinct. The entire mound radiated with it, as well as the residue from his magic, but his personal aura seemed... filtered. As he moved deeper, he realized that rather than glowing from within the mound, the aura actually seemed to glow from
beneath
it. It was glowing so brightly that it was showing up through the heap. There had to have been a lot of mana expended to leave an aura like that.

Now that Sal knew what to look for, he could see a very faint trail in the earth, almost completely hidden by the lead content of the soil. The trail led out from the mound a few yards, then broke the surface again, hinting at a possible escape. Had Keth gotten away? And if so, why hadn’t he rejoined the others? Then Sal noticed something else that was even more puzzling. The trail didn’t fade a bit from one point to another. Either point could have been the beginning or the end. It looked almost as if the move had been... instantaneous?

Again, the physics of the situation got the better of Sal. Moving that fast could have caused a sonic boom, but he doubted it. When Keth melted, he became one with his environment, including the air around him, most likely. Besides, if either point could be the beginning, than it was just as likely that Keth could melted
into
the midst of the granites, rather than escaping
from
them. Thus he could have still died in a magical implosion. But then again...

Sal’s temples pounded with unanswerable questions. He scrunched his eyes shut, trying vainly to block out the throbbing. Whatever else, both Keth and Reit were casualties of war. The only question was, was Keth dead and gone, or was he just
gone
?

He sighed wearily, knowing he’d get no further tonight. There was going to be a meeting of the Council in the morning, so maybe he could talk to the Heads of Order then, possibly find some answers that only a master mage would have. Groaning, he stood, knees and back popping as he rose. He decided he should take his own advice. Tomorrow
was
going to be a big day, and as Jaren said, Marissa was anxious to spend time with him. Well, can’t disappoint a pretty girl, can we?

He nodded respects to the heap, the last place Keth was seen alive, and he sent his thoughts outward and his prayers up. If Keth
was
alive somewhere, he wished the young granite well.

Looking to the granite aura outlining the place where Reit’s body had lay, Sal bowed low, with knees, fists, and forehead touching the blood-caked ground. It was a salute for a fallen gold-hilted
shol
’
tuk
, but he felt Reit had earned it. Finally rising once more, he turned back toward the tent city, bound for a night of dreamless, exhausted sleep.

He wouldn’t realize until late the next day that the granite silhouette of Reit’s body had looked as fresh as a spell just cast, for all that it was hours old.

***

Athnae watched the odd young mage as he walked back toward the center of the camp, his singular amethyst eye once more winking to brilliant diamond.
He’s not
that
interesting
, Aplos teased from behind her. Smiling—the expression would look more a snarl than a grin to human eyes—she craned her sapphire neck to take in her mate.

Oh, I quite disagree. Aside for the fact that he’s the answer to prophecy, he is the most unique mage to ever ascend. Think of it! He’ll be able to touch all the soulgems simultaneously, once he learns how! Can you think of anything
more
interesting than that?

Yes, yes, I know, dear heart. And he’ll defeat the Highest, and bring order to our lands, and bring the pure word of the Crafter and all that
...

I wouldn’t mock
, Athnae cautioned.

Aplos harrumphed, plumes of phosphor-ladened smoke drifting from his nostrils.
I’m not mocking. I’m simply pointing out that our young savior there still faces many a challenge, and I just find it hard to place my faith in him at so early a stage
.

But the Master said
...

I know what he said, Woman!
Aplos growled in frustration, then backing off slightly.
I agree with everything he says, and I have followed him faithfully since before you were hatched. But the Prism has never met the Highest. All others who have dared have met with failure. The Silent Blade. The court of King Titus. All of them. Regardless of the faith the Master places in the Prism, he has much to prove.

Athnae tossed her sapphire mane about her in irritation. This was an old argument—one that neither of them ever truly won—and it grated on her nerves that they should be in one accord on so many other issues, but not on this. She bowed her head in submission to her mate, dutifully if doubtfully. Still, she couldn’t help casting one last glance at the camp in the distance. The young mage—Sal, the Master had called him—was long gone, likely into the tent of his beloved Marissa, the Artisan from Bayton. The woman would be good for him, the Master had said once, and more so when they finally married. Pity that their happiness would be so short-lived.

Tragic, really.

***

A small, satisfied grin stretched across the Highest’s face as he turned away, the black aura around him lightening somewhat as he released his magic. He stepped out onto the east-facing balcony, his white robes creating a negative shadow against the backdrop of the predawn skyline. “You may dispose of that as you see fit,” he said, flicking a hand dismissively at the two corpses behind him. One, the late commander of the Granite Spire, bore a rictus of unearthly pain and terror. The other, his only remaining student, had no face left with which to hold an expression.

“As you wish, Sire,” Heramis said with a stiff bow. His eyes went opaque as he readied his magic, cutting his sight off from all but the magical spectrum. It was a secret known only to a few granites, a secret that was kept from the rest of the Spire for obvious reasons. Like all others who discovered this secret, Heramis employed it to view the natural world whenever he was able, and was loathe to give it up. But at the Highest’s command, he did at once. Extending his aura to include the cooling once-mages, he wielded, melting the bodies into the stone floor to be dealt with later.

With the corpses hidden from sight and marked by his aura, he released them, and turned his focus to the diamond-encrusted ring on the middle finger of his left hand. The diamond chips formed a clenched fist, hand-sculpted by the finest artisan in Schel Veylin as a gift from his mother, the Lady Bralla Veis, on his Marking Day. It was a time of great esteem and honor for him... and one that his father had failed to notice.

That’s in the past
, Heramis forcibly reminded himself. There was no point in holding onto old grudges, especially now that he understood why his father did what he did. Sighing, he stroked the ring lovingly and wielded, and his eyes took on the essence—and translucence—of the diamond. He sighed at the sight of the guttering flames of the candelabra, the strongest light source allowed in the Highest’s personal chambers. “I suppose a note of congratulation is in order,” he said, almost cheerfully.

The Highest looked askance at the granite, mildly surprised at the statement, possibly even amused. “You don’t honestly believe this to be a victory, do you?”

“Well, yes, Sire. If the late commander’s story is to be believed, Bastion dealt the rebels a crippling blow. Possibly even a fatal one.”

“But at what cost?” the Highest asked analytically. “The entire constabulary of Bastion, most if not all of the commissioned Rank officers stationed there, and five of the six granites that remained in the commander’s care while the rest of the Spire was away for the Festival of Harvest. And that’s not mentioning a full quarter of this year’s output from the Ysre camp. If not for Master Aten’rih and his exceptional leadership, we might well have lost Bastion outright.”

“The commander seemed to think that Aten’rih had delegated command responsibility to one of his prized pupils,” Heramis argued, though respectfully.

“The great
el
’
Yatza
, dead at the hands of an Unmarked?” the Highest scoffed. “And a one-eyed one at that? No. I doubt it. Not after the... inconvenient outcome... of the raid on Caravan.”

Heramis was thoughtful for a moment. “Is it possible that the one-eyed Unmarked might be the ‘oddity’ that you had held in Schel Veylin Prison until du’Nograh and his compatriots escaped?”

“Ah,” the Highest sighed with mock rapture. “The light of understanding dawns in the eyes of the young. It truly is good to see that the death of your father has not dimmed your wits as I had feared. No, High Commander Veis. Commander Ghert did not see a Bastionite victory, but rather a rebel victory. We must now consider Bastion an enemy city, and treat her accordingly.

“Make no mistake, even if the good commander was right and the rebel army was crushed outside the city walls, the Resistance is alive and well. The loss on Ysre, though substantial, did nothing but fan the flames of rebellion. And give them a martyr,” he added as an afterthought, returning his gaze to the skyline.

“As you say, Sire,” Heramis said pliantly. He still thought the victory as described by the late Commander Ghert was the most likely outcome of the battle, but knew better than to take his differing opinion too far. He stood silently, waiting on the Highest. Had the obsidian mage been done with him, he would have been dismissed.

“I have achieved what I was aiming for, though not as I’d planned,” he mused, almost to himself. “The rebels are gathering in one place. But slowly. They will not commit to the ‘safety’ of Bastion for some time, I think. Their nomadic ways have served them too well in the past to give them up outright. Rather, I think they will seek to replicate their efforts elsewhere, to conquer another city, perhaps one with special meaning to them…

“High Commander Veis, select one of your finest lieutenants, and send him to Bastion as Commander of the Spire. Then I want you to meet with the Major Generals of the Segmented Fist, acting on my authority. Gather from them any troops you might need for a protracted tour of duty. Spare no expense.”

“What do you have in mind, Sire?”

The Highest turned his awful gaze fully on Heramis. “I would like you to reconquer the world for me, my boy. Starting with the city-state of Aitaxen. Be prepared to find significant resistance there. Take no prisoners, rebel or otherwise.”

Given his orders, the granite bowed his obeisance and melted into the floor. The flagstone rippled with his passing, leaving only a fading brownish aura to mark that he was ever there.

***

He’s a decent soldier, but a bit too free in the way he approaches Me,
thought the Highest.
He questions Me. Nestor was always that way as well, so I shouldn’t be surprised that the son follows closely to the father. I should have made an example of Nestor long ago, I suppose. But then, I would have never had the man’s wonderful insight, and now that of his son. They have indeed been faithful servants, regardless of his lack of reverence towards Me.

What was that he’d said? “The commander seemed to think that Aten’rih had delegated command responsibility to one of his prized pupils.”

The Oddity. The curious one that found his way into the Granite Spire. It was impossible that he and the one-eyed Unmarked could be the same man, and yet it seemed to fit. That one had been half-dead when he was brought to the Highest, and not a mage at all. Surely, he would have sensed any innate ability the Oddity had possessed. And yet, the Unmarked had apparently shown a flair for magic that should have been impossible—and indeed had not been seen in thousands of years. The late Commander had even claimed that he could wield more than one soulgem. Preposterous! But it did make sense, after a fashion. If the Oddity did indeed ascend, his strangeness might have had unexpected effects on his soulgem alignment. It was possible that he could access magic in ways previously unavailable. It certainly bore further investigation...

And the Oddity
had
taken up with the rebel leader and his friends
, he reminded himself. The one-eyed mage in Commander Ghert’s report was supposedly a Southern Plainsman, and a member of the Earthen Rank. If the two were the same, then somehow, the Oddity had not only ascended to magehood, but adjusted to this world more completely than he could ever have expected, so much so that he was able to infiltrate the Training Camp at Bastion.