The Crossover (3 page)

“Empty again,” Chelinn muttered. “Well, except for the ladder.” He nodded toward the ladder, lying against one wall. “And another door.”

“Let’s lower that ladder,” Lodrán suggested. “If we have to leave in haste…” He shrugged.

Chelinn nodded, and Lodrán slipped the ladder through the rough hole where the trap door once stood. With their retreat made ready, Lodrán inspected the door. “No lock,” he whispered. “After you?”

Chelinn grinned and burst through. Only his armor saved him from being skewered on three spears, held by soldiers on the other side. One spear snapped, the others turned. The soldier with the broken spear drew a short sword. Another soldier faced Lodrán as he slipped in behind Chelinn. Lodrán threw a knife, but the Easterner caught it on his shield and sent it clattering to the floor. Lodrán drew his own short sword and took up another knife in his shield hand. A little clumsy, but much better than a spear.

The spearman hesitated. He had a slight advantage with the reach of his spear, but if Lodrán got inside he would be defenseless. To his right, one of his companions groaned and fell.

“We offer you quarter,” said Lodrán. “Lay down your weapons and go down the ladder.”

The spearman glanced at Chelinn, occupied with his remaining fellow, then threw his spear. It went low, opening a gash in Lodrán’s thigh; Lodrán yowled and the spearman pushed him down running for the ladder.

Chelinn’s strike tore the short sword from his opponent’s hand. “Leave your weapon and follow your friend,” he said, and the soldier scuttled away. He knelt next to Lodrán. “More painful than anything, I suspect.”

“And fish live in water.” Lodrán snarled.

“That they do.” Chelinn produced a small canister. “Rub some of this on it.”

Lodrán opened the canister and smeared the pleasant-smelling goop over the wound. He gasped at the sting. As he watched, the wound closed and scabbed over. The pain ebbed. “Better,” he said.

“And fish live in water,” Chelinn chuckled. “Look, another door. Sooner or later, I expect we’ll find the room that’s well-guarded. Can you walk?”

Lodrán tried his leg. “Not quickly.” He picked up the spear and used it as a walking stick, hobbling to the door. “A lock,” he said. “Looks simple enough.” He went to one knee, took out a pick, and attacked it. He felt it give—

The door flew open from the other side, jerking the pick out of Lodrán’s hand. He looked up into the face of a wild-eyed man, nearly as tall and a little thicker than Lodrán himself. His thin beard straggled past his bare chest, that sported strange symbols of many colors inked into his skin. An Eastern priest—

Their eyes locked for a moment, then the priest raised his hands and began a mighty curse in the Eastern tongue. He felt a wave of heat rush over him, and divine force begin to crush him. He flung what was in his hand as Chelinn bellowed a battle-cry.

Chapter 2 – Far from Home

Lodrán and Chelinn looked around them wild-eyed, assaulted by sight and sound, trying to take it all in. Neither the many strange creatures they had seen, nor the battles they had fought, were enough to prepare them for the wild colors and noises beating at their eyes and ears. The scent of recent rain mingled with a less pleasant smell, a hint of something burned.

After a long minute, Lodrán looked behind him then gripped his friend’s arm. “An alley!” Chelinn took one last look around, then nodded and allowed Lodrán to pull him into the alley.

After the incomprehensible strangeness, the alley was a familiar if odorous comfort. They ducked behind a large box of some sort, giving them cover and some relief. Unhealthy puddles of standing water, close walls looming above, even the smell of decay, all combined to provide a touchpoint of familiarity. Noise from outside followed them into the alley, but muffled.

They spent several minutes looking around, catching their breath and their wits at last. Chelinn finally relaxed the grip on his sword. Lodrán grinned and swept an arm across the alley. “Some things can’t be changed, eh?”

“Hm.” The big warrior-mage rapped the green-painted box with a knuckle. “An alley is an alley. But details? Look. This box is made of iron.” He tapped a shiny spot near the top, where paint had flaked away. “See? Rust. And if my nose does not lie, it’s full of garbage.”

“What? That’s as much iron as we’d see in all of Anlayt or Roth’s Keep, and they… no.” Lodrán sized it up. “A box must have a lid. Or a door…” He pushed at a handle, and a panel slid aside wide enough to look in. “Ha! Whew. You’re right—what kind of fools would dedicate such wealth to garbage?”

“The kind of fools for whom iron is near as abundant as water?”

“Impossible. Nowhere in all of Termag is… um.” Lodrán turned to look at his comrade, the question he dared not ask plain on his face.

“Indeed. Wherever we are, we’re far from home.”

Lodrán peered around the side of the great metal box, shuddered, and crouched against the wall. “If I get a chance,” he panted, rubbing his healing leg, “I’ll kill that priest!”

“Too late.”

“What?”

“I’m sure you already killed him.” Chelinn looked grim. “You spitted him with your spear, right in the middle of his curse. Good thing—those Easterners do things differently, but if I’m right, he meant to send our living bodies straight to Hell. Instead, you disrupted him and we’re—wherever we are.”

“I’m not convinced this isn’t Hell!” Lodrán chewed his long mustache, as he often did when nervous or thinking. Instinct led him to crouch in the shadow of the box. Black garb, black hair, tall and thin, Lodrán was a shadow among shadows. Even knowing he was there, Chelinn found him hard to see.
 

“Courage, man. Hell would not have left us armed—” he patted his sword hilt— “nor provided this quiet alley for our retreat. This is no more Hell than it is Termag.” He sighed. “So much for the scrying-stone. That priest had the markings of an Oracle, and neither I nor Ak’koyr have much use for a dead Oracle. Well, the tide comes in, the tide goes out. Let us have another look at this world.”

After a minute, they retreated again to the shelter of the great iron garbage box. “What did you see?” Lodrán asked.

“A street of solid stone,” Chelinn told him. “Carriages of metal and glass, moving along it, without oxen pulling them. People inside the carriages. Lights flashing in patterns, and patterns have meaning. People walking around without weapons. And our alley. We’re in some kind of city. And you?”

“Storefronts. People walking unconcerned among the carriages. No armed patrols. This place reeks of a long peacetime.”

“At peace with others, perhaps,” said Chelinn. “But with itself? Hear that?” They paused to listen to a new sound, a wail they had never heard on Termag or any other world. It grew for a moment, then faded. “I don’t need to know the language to know that’s a distress cry. And whatever made it was moving fast.”

“Didn’t we hear it when we were looking around, too?” Chelinn nodded, and Lodrán continued, “Nobody looked concerned then. If we were watching the street now, nobody would do more than look around. I’d put a handful of octagons on that.”

“That’s a bet you’d win. Let me take one more look, then we’ll decide what to do.” Chelinn slipped around their shelter, leaving Lodrán to watch from the corner of the iron midden.

“Hey!” came a voice from behind. Lodrán stood, cursing himself for his inattention, and turned to face a wrinkled man carrying a bottle.
Drunks don’t change much either
, he thought.

“Shove off, punk,” the drunk grated, “this is my spot.”

“Sorry,” said Lodrán, marveling that he was able to understand the drunk. “We’re… we’re new in town. Can you share?”

“Shove off—whoa!” the drunk took two steps back, then fell on his backside, staring at the big man who came walking around the dumpster. He was tall, even taller than the skinny punk in black, with broad shoulders. A metal helmet covered most of his brown hair; what escaped out the back was pulled into a queue. A grey cloak covered most of his features, but metal peeked through here and there. Black leather boots, worn but tough, finished the ensemble.

“Is there a problem?” Chelinn glared down at the drunk, who fumbled at his bottle and took a long drink.

“Yeah. This punk is in my spot.”

Wine restores the spine
. Chelinn grinned at the old saw, and the drunk suddenly looked less certain. “No worry,” he assured the drunk. “We’re moving on. Let’s go, Lodrán.”

“Damn’ foreigners,” the drunk muttered, as the two strangers departed. “Big Trouble and Bigger Trouble, that’s your names. I didn’t fight in Desert Storm to get pushed around by funny-talkin’ foreign troublemakers with weird names.” His quiet diatribe trailed off as he and his bottle got down to business.

“Moving on?” asked Lodrán, taking a deep breath before following Chelinn into the street. “Where to?”

“This way,” said Chelinn, turning right. “What do you see up there?”

“More city. More chaos.”

“No… look up.”

“Hm. The rainbow? Huh. There was a rainbow over Tirfa-Wold, too.”

“Indeed. A rainbow is a bridge between worlds. If we can get to it before it fades, we can cross it and get home. You coming?”

• • •

“I see the pattern now,” said Lodrán. His limp faded as Chelinn’s goop continued to heal his leg, and he walked quickly to keep up with Chelinn as they crossed an intersection. “Green means proceed. Red means wait.”

Chelinn nodded, watching the sky. Every once in a while, he would veer toward the street or a building, and Lodrán steered him straight. Pedestrians approaching got out of their way in a hurry; even looking distracted, and with a cloak covering his weapons, Chelinn cut an imposing figure. “Ah,” the warrior-mage grunted. “The magical forces of this world are similar to those of home and of other worlds. If we get near enough to the rainbow, I can anchor it and weave the spells to get us home.”

“If only we could use one of those carriages, we could get there a lot quicker, hey?” Lodrán caught himself chewing his mustache again, and made himself stop.

“If we knew how to steer it. You see any reins in there?”

Lodrán looked into one standing empty and quiet along the sidewalk. “No. But there’s a wheel, like on a ship. And levers. I wonder what they do?”

“By the time we figured it out, we could walk there. Let’s go. Rainbows won’t wait.”

One of the carriages rolled by. A rhythmic growling rumbled from the carriage as it passed, startling Lodrán. He turned and hustled to catch his friend. “I had a thought just now,” he said, chewing his mustache again.

“What?” Chelinn sounded distracted.

“Those carriages. What if they’re alive? With so much iron in this world—they even use it for their middens!—could it gain life somehow? Or perhaps there’s some kind of magic that makes the carriages act alive? Maybe the people inside them don’t want to be there. Maybe the carriages ate them.”

Chelinn said nothing, continuing to watch the sky. He brushed against a tall pole—more iron of course, mere construction material—that arched over the street, supporting some kind of globe. He shook his head and focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. “We might not catch it,” he said, gesturing at the rainbow. “It’s too far away. As for the carriages? I don’t know. The carriage you looked into had a wheel and levers. So it needs to be controlled, no? As to how they move at all—it could be magic, or it could be principles we don’t understand.” Another carriage rolled past, rumbling and booming. “And what we don’t understand can be left to a less urgent moment, whenever possible.”

“You’re right,” grumbled Lodrán, “or would be, if we had anything better to do. Back home, we could hire a coach to take us somewhere. What power says that’s not possible here?”

“I’m sure it’s possible. But we have no idea how to find such a coach. And how would we pay one?”

“We have gold and silver.”

“But in the right weights?”

Lodrán grunted.

Chelinn sighed. “It’s gone.”

“What?”

“The rainbow.” Lodrán followed Chelinn’s gaze into the empty sky. Chelinn began to curse methodically, first in the two languages Lodrán knew, then several others he didn’t. Lodrán once heard that Chelinn learned the goblin-tongue because its curses were so eloquent and potent. That was likely true; Chelinn was fond of expressing himself.

“Well, you did say it was too far,” Lodrán pointed out. “And there will be other rains, no?”

“Surely,” Chelinn grumbled. “But there’s no telling when there will be another rainbow.” He shrugged. “Until then, I suppose we’ll have to make our way in this world as best we can.”

“Perhaps, with all their other wonders, they can create a rainbow for us?”

“Maybe.”

They walked in silence, crossing with other pedestrians, block by block. Then Lodrán pulled up short, grasping Chelinn’s arm. “Look!” He pointed across the street, at a storefront that had ornate but recognizable weapons hanging in the window. They were unable to read the sign above:

AGE OF HEROES

Games • Gifts • Comics

Chelinn studied the window for a moment. “Those weapons are for show more than use, I suspect,” he said. “But it’s the most hopeful thing I’ve seen yet. Let’s see what that place is. Perhaps they’ll understand us better than most.”

“Do you think they’ll understand us at all?”

“We could talk to the drunk. So I suspect they will.”

“Right!” Lodrán stepped off the curb, but a strong arm jerked him back.

“Wait!” said Chelinn. “You see anyone else crossing here? No? They cross at those lights. We might be violating some law, or inviting one of those carriages to run us down. Follow the lead of the natives.”

Lodrán shrugged, unable to overcome either Chelinn’s logic or his strength, and they continued to the next intersection. Over the shoulders of several other pedestrians, who gave Chelinn and Lodrán wary looks, they saw a pictogram of an outstretched hand picked out in shining red dots, flashing on and off.
The Hand That Warns seemed to have the same meaning here
, Lodrán thought. After a minute, carriages slowed and stopped in front of a white line crossing the street, then the red pictogram winked out and was replaced with a green one of a person, legs outstretched. The other pedestrians immediately stepped into the street, and Chelinn and Lodrán followed.