Kevin J Anderson (36 page)

"Great Maxwell!" Frankenstein said.

"There's your controller," Tareah said. "There's the thing that's been destroying Sitnalta."

The professor looked at the titanic clay face that scowled at them, and his own expression filled with fury. He slammed his activation levers forward, and Drone strode into the chamber.

Tareah peered through the eye-windows and saw the metal feet squashing werem that could not wriggle out of the way fast enough. Some worm-men threw clods of dirt and gems, which did nothing to the automaton.

Frankenstein gave a sidelong glance at the werem. "What sort of evolutionary process could have made
that
a viable survival trait?" He snorted. "Professor Darwin has have some explaining to do."

He yanked another lever that extended Drone's dirt-spattered metal hands forward, as if he wanted to strangle the immense earthen face.

Drone towered halfway to the ceiling of the grotto. As it stomped across the floor, Frankenstein had to step sideways to avoid the thick support columns spaced in the center.

The Master's vast clay hands cast Vailret and Bryl carelessly to the floor. The hands extended from the wall, palms outward, and grew larger as they pulled more dirt and mud. Tareah watched the three tiny Stones patter to the floor.

Frankenstein made Drone's hands form two fists as the automaton steamed forward.

The right clay hand swelled larger and struck across, swatting Drone. The giant mechanical man reeled sideways and staggered to the far wall of the grotto. The left eye-window cracked and splintered; two of the smaller panes split out to tinkle on the grotto floor.

The control chamber rocked and tilted as the gyros tried to stabilize it against the violent motion. The professor grabbed at an emergency handle to regain control.

Below them, in the bobbing, glaring spotlight, the werem continued to move and hiss, lining up by Drone's feet. But they could do nothing. They were soft.

Frankenstein checked his control panel. "Some damage, but not serious. It'll be harder to walk. One leg joint doesn't seem to respond properly."

"I have the Water Stone," Tareah said. "I could roll it in here and strike out at that thing."

"No," the professor said without hesitating. "Wouldn't work. We're shielded in here. If the Earth Stone magic can't get in to manipulate us, then yours can't get out. Complementarity principle, or something like that. It only makes sense."

"Then I have to get out of Drone! How will I make it past the worm-men down there? If I can just take my Stone to the other four ― " She looked through the shattered eye-window and saw Vailret and Bryl both scurrying toward the other gems. "If I can bring all four together, then we'll be done! We'll have the Allspirit. We'll have won."

Frankenstein kept his jaw clenched tightly, and his voice sounded strange. Tareah wondered if he had ever been battered by an opponent before.

"I'm going to charge forward, straight into that face and poke its big mud eyes out. When I start moving, undog the hatch and jump out. If you land right, you won't hurt yourself. We're not that high up. Help me out with your Water Stone if you can."

"All right," Tareah said. She braced herself as Frankenstein jammed his motion levers all the way forward.

Drone lurched ahead, steaming and hissing. She heard an abrasive clanking, and knew that one of the gears in the automaton's knee must have been broken.

Tareah moved aside the locking levers in the hatch. She popped open the heavy metal door in Drone's back and hung onto the edge. She shouted at the professor in the clanking roar of Drone's charge. "Luck!"

"I don't believe in Luck," Frankenstein said without turning away from his controls. "It's just a matter of probabilities."

Tareah swung out from the hatch, tried to grab several of the handholds and footholds on Drone's side, but the automaton lurched too much. The robot had stomped away from most of the werem, and she let go.

The heavy hatch on Drone's back clanged shut but did not lock. It wobbled open and banged down each time the automaton took a step. Wet mud caked the Sitnaltan automaton, and a geyser of steam came from the exhaust vent on its shoulders. The steam grew black as Drone chugged toward the scowling visage on the wall.

The colossal clay hands extended out, reaching for the automaton. Drone held out its own metal hands and charged at its top speed into the clay.

Tareah rolled, got to her knees, and scrambled away. The werem hadn't noticed her, intent on their Master's battle. She grabbed the six-sided Water Stone and made ready to roll it, to call up some kind of spell to help Frankenstein.

But it was too late. Drone jammed its spread metal claws into the towering eye sockets with an explosive thud.

The huge face let out a howl of pain. The clay hands folded over Drone, and the face melted back into the wall, like a man sinking deep in a dark pool of water. The hands cupped around Drone, growing larger to cover the strugglings of the automaton. The hands pulled back into the earthen wall as well, dragging Drone down with them into an abyss of solid earth.

As the wall swallowed Drone's spotlight, Tareah became blinded before she grew accustomed to a dimmer glow. She felt sick. The worm-men stirred.

"Vailret!" she called.

"I'm here," he gasped. He sounded hurt.

She saw Bryl scrambling across the grotto floor, looking for the scattered Stones. He held the Air Stone in one hand and, as she watched, he grabbed the brilliant emerald Earth Stone.

"Bryl! I have the Water Stone," she said.

"Yes, for the Allspirit!" he answered, wheezing. He crawled about, searching for the Fire Stone.

Tareah moved toward him. The werem hissed, and she saw them rising up. Scores of them lay dead and squashed, oozing a thick, mudlike blood. Their broken segments and severed bodies continued to squirm in opposite directions.

With a splitting
smack
, the far wall split open and Drone came flying out, stumbling backward, as if the jaws of the earth had spat out their morsel. Both eye-windows gaped, shattered, and she could see Frankenstein moving sluggishly inside, as if injured. He tried to regain control of his machine. The spotlight danced around like a glowing whip on the grotto walls, and then it flickered and went out.

Drone whirled out of control. One leg didn't move and, as it tried to take too many steps forward, the automaton tottered, staggered, and then tipped over. Professor Frankenstein used the metal arms to try and stabilize it, but Drone toppled like a prodigious tree.

The automaton crashed into one of the thick support pillars. Dirt and chunks of cement-hard rock tumbled down. The ceiling groaned and split as a great fissure opened up.

Bryl cried out, sprawling toward the gleaming Fire Stone he found among the debris on the floor. Drone had kicked it out of the way. "I found the last one!" He scurried across the floor.

Frankenstein crawled out of Drone's smashed left eye-window, heaving himself out and looking dazed. Blood smeared his forehead, and he staggered down, picking his way along the metal chest and shoulders of his automaton. He stared up at the behemoth he had built, now smashed and battered beyond all hope of repair. He blinked in shock and sorrow.

Bryl's hand closed around the ruby Fire Stone. He sat up. His face gleamed in a rictus of triumph. "We have won!"

"Look out!" Vailret croaked.

Then an entire section of ceiling broke free and crushed down on top of Bryl.

――――

ALLSPIRIT

"Never bring all four Stones together unless you are prepared for what will happen. It's like magical synergy. More power resides in the combined Stones than even the six Spirits possess ... The Transition was an awesome enough thing to do once in the Game."

― the Sentinel Arken

Delrael watched the manticore die in the cannon explosion.

He saw the havoc caused by the old Sorcerer troops as they slaughtered the monster army.

"All fighters, get ready!" he shouted to his own troops. "We're going to march out and end this. Siryyk is dead. The monsters are on the run. We will win this Game!"

His army cheered and raised their weapons, eager to attack. But as soon as his army stood lined up and ready to charge, Delrael realized he didn't know how to lower the ice wall.

Instead, one by one, the fighters had to push through the low doorways Enrod had left in the wall. A constant stream spilled out to the opposite side of the barricade, waiting and regrouping.

Inside the fortress, Siya blinked her eyes, still groggy. She looked devastated, burned out from the inside. But she managed a thin smile. "Was I brave, Delrael?" she asked in a small voice.

"You were stupid!" Delrael said, but the harshness in his voice did not sound genuine.

"I was brave," Siya said and nodded. "That's enough for now, I think. But you don't have an excuse, Delrael. Go lead your army!"

When he passed under the low frozen arch, Delrael saw that most of his army had already grouped and charged forward with no plan, just a frenzy of attack. Delrael drew his own sword and moved after them in disgust. "Thanks for waiting," he muttered.

He'd never had trouble managing his companions on a simple quest. They all acted as a team with the same goal; each knew his own responsibilities. But he did not picture himself as a domineering commander, and this army was too much for Delrael to hold under rigid control.

These characters had come to the Stronghold as a rallying point, to meet and gain some training before they went off toward their common foe. They had been fidgeting inside the ice walls for days, watching their enemy within grasp. They had been stirred by the duel of Arken and Rognoth, even by Siya's bravery. Now they had no patience for waiting or listening to Delrael.

But they were going to win the battle anyway.

He saw that the monster army already appeared to be backing away, leaving behind the manticore's bloody carcass and the ruins of the giant cannon. The remaining old Sorcerers followed them, leaving chopped enemy corpses in their wake.

Then Delrael noticed the empty steam-engine car chugging directly toward them. He recognized it as a Sitnaltan vehicle ―

Finally, something else made sense to him. He thought of the manticore's cannon and how improbable it had seemed that the monsters could have developed such an incredible weapon. He wondered with a shudder if Siryyk had somehow captured one of the Sitnaltan professors.

What if the monsters were even now retreating from some new weapon, something planted in the steam-engine car that would cause even more destruction? Why else would they be running away?

Most of Delrael's army veered to the left to engage the surviving monsters. Delrael planted his feet and waited for the steam-engine car to approach. It frightened him; the vehicle did not belong here. The monsters would not have given it up so easily, not such a prize.

Someone had sent it on a mission.

He could see no driver. The steering levers had been tied down. A polished cylinder sat upright on the front seat, and a bloody human hand draped over the back, trying to reach the device.

Delrael sprinted to meet the oncoming vehicle. He heard its chugging grow louder as the shouts from his army, the clash of weapons, the roars of monsters echoed across the cold, still sky.

Far ahead, Delrael saw Ydaim Trailwalker and Tayron Tribeleader loping faster than any of the other fighters toward the front line of creatures. A tall Slac general stood directing the troops and trying to exert his control.

Both Tayron and Ydaim attacked the Slac general at the same time, swinging down with their wooden swords, putting all the strength of their broad shoulders behind the blow. Delrael could see the muscles rippling in their backs. They reared up and raked sideways with their curved panther claws. The Slac general tumbled backward and flailed in his own defense, but the two khelebar struck him down.

Delrael tensed as the Sitnaltan car reached him. He dropped his sword in the snow, freeing his hands. He would not need the blade now ― he needed his dexterity, and his mind. Somehow, he would have to understand and outwit a Sitnaltan invention.

His boots kicked up wet, blood-spattered snow from the retreating monsters. He ran and grabbed the battered red body, letting his feet skip on the ground.

Delrael dragged himself into the moving car, knocked the cylindrical device aside to make room for himself, and turned to the back seat. He looked with sick astonishment at the gaunt figure lying bloody in the back.

He barely recognized Professor Verne. The man appeared too thin and haggard, with great bags under his eyes, his bushy gray beard torn and unkempt. Blood soaked his torn shirt, and drying red spots stained his hands. With his last gasps of life he must have tried to haul himself over the seat toward the device.

A ticking sound came from it. Whatever this weapon was, it seemed far more sinister than the cannon.

"Professor, can you hear me? Speak to me!"

Delrael reached over the seat and tried to haul him erect, but Verne's body felt stiff and cold. His jaws were strung together by dead muscles. Delrael let the professor fall back.

He looked up and saw the car chugging straight for the ice fortress wall. He remembered how Mayer had pulled and yanked at the levers to steer her car. Delrael unlashed the ropes that someone had tied around the levers.

He pulled at one, and the car lurched to the side, veering away from the ice fortress. He pushed another, and the vented steam increased. The vehicle picked up speed. Delrael needed to get away from his troops, away from the fortress if he couldn't somehow learn what to do with this weapon of Verne's.

The steam-engine car ground past the ice fortress walls, spinning deep ruts into the snow and ice, bouncing on barely covered rocks beneath the frozen desolation. They sped onward.

Verne had been trying to do something to the Sitnaltan device when he died. Delrael looked at the invention, but it made no sense to him: a cylinder of bright metal with red fins sticking out from the side; a trembling gauge protruded on an elbow, indicating some quantity approaching a red area on the dial. On the back he found scrawled numbers, "17/2," but that meant nothing to him.