The Crystal Sorcerers (8 page)

"Father was ill already," she said, trying to force a smile. "He had been a warrior under our lord Allic. He had always said he wished to die sword in hand, facing the enemy, and not wasted and old. He died as he wished, slaying the demon that killed him, singing his death song. It was as he desired, and for him I should be happy."

"I was ready to die," she went on grimly. "And then I saw you flying in like an avenger borne on the wind, descending out of the sun, flame arching from your hand, your battle cry like thunder."

"Oh, how they fled before your rage," she said excitedly. "I thought first that perhaps you must be a god. Sometimes I still believe that."

Imada blushed at the open admiration in her innocent eyes.

She giggled softly. "Forgive me; I do love you so. I dream of the day I can tell our grandchildren how you came thus to save me."

Imada laughed and hugged her. Never would they be separated! "It's still kind of hard to remember it all."

She paused for a moment, looking at him with concern. "You do remember most of it, though,
don't
you?"

"You're helping me to," he replied with a smile.

"You fought your way to me. A demon slashed you here." She pointed to the furled scar on his shoulder. "Yet still you came for me. And picking me up, you flew off. They chased us here, into the mountains, until you finally lost them. Only then did you finally collapse, near the edge of death from your wounds, which were poisoned."

"I knew of this cave. Being on the border marches, Father had prepared this place if there was an emergency. Even as a child, I could have found this place blindfolded. He had thought of everything, hiding bedding, clothes, weapons, and food, if ever we should have need of a place to hide. And so I carried you here after your collapse and brought you back to health."

A look of concern washed over her.

"And now you seem to be healed and ready to travel once again."

"We'll always be one," he murmured.

"But you must go back to your friends, and to our lord Allic."

Yes, that was his name: Allic. Now the memory seemed so much clearer. Allic was his daimyo, his warlord, and he must obey as a samurai. There was actually a moment of pleasure in that realization. He was a samurai of Allic's. In his own world he had never wanted to be a soldier, but as a child he had thrilled with the legendary heroes of the civil wars, and the struggle for the Shogunate. Now he had powers surpassing even those of Norgunata or the forty-seven ronin. He had his duty.

Yet there was Vena.

"You can fly back with me to Landra. As I saved your life, so you saved mine. Nothing will ever keep us apart. I could not live without you."

"You seem so much stronger already, even as you talk about it," Vena said. "Think how excited your friends will be to see you. You've been gone nearly four months, my love."

"Four months!"

Startled, he sat straight up, looking anxiously around.

"The demon's poison worked deep into your soul," Vena said soothingly, sitting up alongside him. "You did not even stir until several weeks back. It took all the skill I had to bring you back to me."

How could this be? Imada wondered. They must think him dead, a prisoner, or even a deserter and coward.

"I have to get back," he said anxiously.

"Another day or two at most," Vena said.

"At least let me get up and walk about outside."

"No, my love," Vena said soothingly. "The demons know that you are hiding someplace in these hills. They have not stopped searching. I have snuck out at dusk to gather herbs for your broth, and every time I leave I can see them circling. You are still a bit
shaky,
you could make a mistake out there and be seen. You see, my dear, you might have the power of a god, but my father taught me woodcraft, and I think I know a bit more about such things than you."

Her voice filled with a note of pride as she spoke. Smiling, Imada found he could not argue with her.

"And speaking of broth, I've made some for you." As she left his bed, the fire's glow cast its light on her long legs and taut, rounded body. Her hair swayed provocatively as she walked across the room toward a small cauldron. She scooped out
a greenish
foam into a wood bowl and brought it back to him.

Playfully, he reached out to her, his arms encircling her waist as she sat down.

"My, you certainly are regaining your strength. But drink this first. It's good for you and will drive out any nightmares you might still have."

Leaning over, she brought the bowl to his lips. The drink was pungent, with a faint bitterness that made him wrinkle his nose.

Even before he had finished, the kaleidoscope of colors returned, washing over him like the lapping of waves upon the beach.

He looked up into Vena's eyes, which looked at him with a knowing gaze.

"When you wake up," she whispered, "you'll feel strong enough to travel. In fact you will find yourself already on the way home."

He could barely see her now.

"We'll always love each other, won't we, Imada?"

He tried to nod but he wasn't even sure anymore if he could move.

"You'll dream only of what we have talked about: How you fought demons in the glade and came to rescue me. And of course you'll dream most wonderfully of what we have done here alone."

He sighed and drifted away.

Standing, she swept up her gown and refastened the clasps.

She heard a door open and the echo of footsteps. A shadow appeared in the entryway, which had been so cunningly hidden to make the room appear to truly be a darkened cave.

"He's ready," Patrice said. "As soon as our informant passes the word from Landra we'll move him to the drop-off point. Until then make sure he stays drugged and asleep."

Vena looked down at Imada and smiled softly, almost feeling a twinge of regret for deceiving him.

Without comment, Patrice turned away and left the room, Vena following in her wake.

Patrice looked over her shoulder at Vena. Despite the centuries of service the sorcerer had given her, she could almost suspect the beginning of a bond between the two.

Perhaps that was for the best. Through Imada's miraculous return, Vena would be infiltrated first into Allic's circle, and from there into Jartan's court.

He would have to report to Landra itself with such information. The memory wash had been thorough, so no amount of mental probing could break that. It was Vena's cover that would still be tricky. Tonight her memory would be washed as well, her mind and identity changed over completely to the real Vena, who had actually been captured in the raid staged on the border village months ago. The girl had been difficult to break, Patrice thought dryly, but all the necessary details of her life had been wrung from her before they were finished.

Now the new Vena would assume all those memories into the core of her soul and not just act them as she had been doing the last three months. If her mind was probed, there would not be the slightest cause for concern.

Once in Jartan's court, Patrice's agents would bring Vena out of her memory wash when the time came so that she could perform her real mission--to steal the Fire Crystals, so that the set would be complete, and to take as well the Portal Gem of Horat, which would open pathways into whatever universes Patrice desired.

She looked over at "Vena," whom she had known for so long as Ulinda. Ulinda had certainly loved the new form created for her, but then, the aging crone had always loved it when Patrice had worked her spells and made her momentarily young once again.

It was as always an excellent lever for keeping her under control.

Patrice smiled at her companion. "You seemed to enjoy your little playtime today," she said, in an open, almost humorous tone.

"It is hard not to, with him," Vena replied, her guard slipping. "He's so innocent and trusting."

"You'll learn different before this is done."

Suddenly nervous, Vena looked at her mistress. But there was no anger or jealousy on her face--only an almost wistful sadness.

Patrice's hand reached out to brush Vena's hair back from her eyes.

"Come with me, my dear. It's time we finished my work with you." Together the two slipped out of the room.

He had grown to love the North, Giorgini reflected, standing at the crest of the hill overlooking the harbor. The cliffs of the fjord reflected the light of the rising sun and the interplay of reddish glow with the darkness of the areas still in shadow made it a scene of pristine beauty.

The water was still unfrozen, although shards of ice in the harbor forewarned of the coming winter. At that time the normal hulled vessels would be beached and the ice schooners would be brought out.

In many ways both the land and the people were what he thought the Scandinavian countries of his own world must be like. Although Earth never had the special crops and trees adapted to the winter climate the way this world did. Hell, even the moss that grew on the rocks was edible.

The cold wind gusted suddenly and brought tears to his eyes, and he hastily raised his shield a little. Sorcerers up here had no trouble keeping warm even on the coldest days, at least as long as they could keep power up, and their crystals were undamaged.
God knows how the normals do it,
he thought.

Still, they were probably acclimated to it. They certainly seemed to relish it.

A chill suddenly seemed to penetrate the power of his shield, but he knew by now what caused this particular cold. Turning, he saw the demigod Boreas coming in to land beside him.

Boreas was a giant of a man, as shaggy as a bear. Red hair seemed to cover practically every square inch of his body, and the flowing red beard hid his face.

The most striking thing about him, however, was his eyes. Killer's eyes, Giorgini decided once again; the eyes of an eternal hard case,
who
was in trouble in every sleazy bar in the universe and would never say no to a fight.

Boreas glanced once over the harbor as if to insure that there were no problems, and then addressed Giorgini in a voice as cold as the winter sea.

"Word has come in from Traca. Allic has restored your name to the rolls and sold your contract to me."

"Thank you, my lord. I am grateful."

"Allic has made good use of your brethren in the South, and I expect you to be of similar value to me. He certainly was none too pleased with your behavior, but said he'd let it pass since you had fought with valor and everybody was half crazed with fatigue by the time the battle ended. He stipulated that I was to 'kick your ass' for awhile to teach you a damn good lesson, though."

"I'm offering no excuses, my lord," Giorgini replied evenly. "I screwed up and I'll admit it. It won't happen again."

Boreas paused to study Giorgini, and the look seemed to read his very soul.

Giorgini had been up here for months and had dealt with Boreas many times before. He met the probe squarely, unafraid.

"You have attended enough of our council meetings to know what I require."

"Sarnak."

"You say that so lightly. Have you any idea what it means to us of Bore's blood?"

"Boreas, I don't feel it the way you and your people do, but I can understand it. And I have a score of my own to settle with him, so I will help as best as I can."

Again there was silence as Boreas turned to regard his harbor, and then glanced at his castle overlooking the city. It was made of stone, cut and polished to such
a brightness
that at night it seemed to be made of ice, and here in the early morning sun shimmered with the color of blood-red gold.

"Giorgini, before I decided to bring you into my service I investigated you and the other outlanders very thoroughly. I know that you are capable of the same kind of talent as Jartan's farsearch specialist, Kochanski."

Giorgini was impressed. That meant that Boreas knew he had been the radar fire control operator in the old B-29 they had flown back in
China, while Kochanski was radar.

"I could direct the guns by radar. I'd track them as they came in,
then
use the information to train all the guns. Kochanski used long-range radar for navigation and detection. But the jobs were similar, and from what you've told me it seems that what we learned on Earth enhances certain skills here on Haven."

"I freely admit that we have already learned several things from you," Boreas replied, "although your knowledge and talents in other areas need vast improvement."

Giorgini nodded.

"However, it is your potential as a farsearcher that I require. I am assigning a team of my best sorcerers to assist you in one task to the exclusion of all others."

He hesitated as if having trouble saying the word, so Giorgini supplied it.

"Sarnak."

"Yes. He has seemingly vanished from the face of Haven. I have had scores of spies at work for months and they have found no trace of him. It was thought that he might go to his
uncle
Tor's realm after his death, but nothing has been heard even there."

"Giorgini, Sarnak's death
must
be at my hands. I must find him before someone else kills him--and I will do anything necessary to achieve it."

Giorgini had his shield raised to the maximum and was still being overcome by the wave of cold and hatred emanating from Boreas.

"My lord.
Your aura," he gasped.

Instantly Boreas regained his control. "Find him for me, and you may name your own reward."

Giorgini nodded in an outward show of calm, but underneath he was terrified.
God in heaven,
he thought,
I don't even know how to start.
And he shivered again.

"The god, Jartan."

Mark, Ikawa, and their companions came instantly to attention, as did the eight hundred other sorcerers and demigods assembled in the vast planning room.

A pillar of light congealed at the apex of the horseshoe-shaped conference table where the demigods sat, facing the assembly.

The form wavered and coalesced into the brightly glowing image of a man.

"Be seated," Jartan intoned, and the group settled into their straightback chairs.

Already the whole operation bore in Mark's mind a remarkable resemblance to a bombing mission planning session. The walls behind Jartan were lined with charts and maps. The one remarkable new twist, however, was the three dimensional image that appeared to float in the middle of the room.

A green-blue ball several feet across occupied the center of the horseshoe. Upon it, in absolute detail, was the planetary surface of Haven. When he had first entered the room, Mark had gone up to the globe to touch it, but his hand went right through the image.

When he drew close, he was amazed to see that the fine detail was even three dimensional, showing the rise of mountain ranges, cities, rivers, and even the most important roads. Examining the city of
Landra and concentrating on the image he was startled when a small pie-shaped section in the area around Landra rose out of the globe, drifted out for a foot, then increased its scale a hundred times, so that individual buildings were now easily discernable. He concentrated again on this section. Again a segment rose out another foot, expanding out a hundredfold so that the finest details of Allic's still damaged palace hovered before him.

He withdrew his thoughts and the first segment retracted to the second and the second back into the main globe. He could have spent days examining the world thus, but the room was filling quickly and there had not been time. Now he wished that he had spent more time examining a couple of the other displays.

For a while the green globe of Haven occupied the center of the display. Around it, in varying sizes, were thirty other worlds, some only a foot in diameter, one--a gas giant up toward the ceiling and orbited by a dozen moons--several yards across.

Each of the other globes had at least one green dot upon it; several had a dozen or more. He noticed a couple that had flashing yellow spots on their surfaces. But there was one, off at the very edge of the display, nearly five feet across, with a single grey moon orbiting
it, that
had half a dozen dots upon the surface. One dot was still flashing yellow, one dot was a steady red,
the
other four were flashing red.

Without asking, Mark could sense this extraordinary meeting had been called because of whatever was occurring on that world. They had rushed here almost nonstop, spending one evening in Landra as Allic called in his remaining sorcerers,
then
winging northward. With only the most hurried of stops for food and a snatch of sleep they had flown through the day and far into the night. There had been no rest even then, just time to change uniforms, shave, shower, and then appear for this predawn meeting. Now they would finally get some answers.

"My friends, we face a most dangerous situation." Jartan began evenly, his voice edged with concern. "Many of you might know small parts of the story."

There was a stirring in the room as the assembled men and women looked at each other. There was going to be
action, that
was obvious.

"Gorgon has always been a threat to our realms. For those of you with memories before the Great War, you will recall that he has been met on more than one field of action."

At the mere mention of the demonlord's name, Mark felt the cold chill of the nightmare returning. The dream was always the same, the demon closing in, leering. The horror of it was that he was paralyzed like a fly in a web, unable to move as the demon tore open his body and pulled the still pulsing heart out of his chest.

"Some of you have personally fought Gorgon and his demons. Many of you have seen the spirits of your friends dragged off to torments undreamed."

Mark nervously slipped a sidelong glance at Allic and could see the slightest of tremors crease his features. Palms damp with sweat, Mark leaned back and tried to stare straight ahead.

"Working together, we Creators have been able to erect barriers to protect Haven. A fair part of our Essence has gone into the creation of these walls."

"Yet there are ways he could enter. Small openings can be created through which he and his most powerful demons may reach out and speak to those foolish enough to hear him. Always he has been probing in such ways, ready to seduce someone into becoming his confederate. His lesser demons can even slip through such narrow openings, to act as his messenger or his instrument of terror and spying. But the walls we have generated are too strong for anyone of great power to slip through."

"But there are the outer worlds."

As he spoke Jartan pointed to the green world in the far corner. The galaxy of planets hovering in the middle of the room started to shift and spin. Rotating in a vast circle, the green planet called Yuvin, with its ominous red dots, drifted to the middle of the room.

"We must keep portals open to other worlds, to other dimensions, for trade, for knowledge. To seal ourselves off forever would cause us to grow weak, and leave us open in the end to perhaps far greater dangers."

"The outlanders present among us," and he pointed to where the Americans and Japanese sat, "are a case in point. We still know nothing of where their world is located, or even which dimension it belongs to. Yet somehow a portal was opened to them. Fortunately for
us,"
and his voice showed a touch of affection, "they have proven to be staunch friends and allies."

Allic visibly swelled at the mention of his vassals and nodded approvingly.

"Yet nevertheless they were a surprise. It is therefore far better for us to reach out first, exploring the edges of our dimension and investigating others. Out
there,"
and he pointed vaguely at the collection of worlds, "we can discover who our neighbors are.
If we find friends, so much the better.
If we find enemies, it will be on their territory and not our own beloved world."

"Thus the portals we maintain must be kept open. Now it appears that Gorgon might have broken through to such an outer world. If he is successful and masters that portal, he will have access straight to our colony worlds, and be that much closer to Haven."

"Could we not simply close off all the portals now, pulling back our outposts and settlements at once?" asked Macha from his vantage in the back of the room.

Mark looked over at he who had once been his enemy and wished he could slide a bit lower in his seat. It was the first time he had seen the demigod since the time he had fought him in the battle before the pass. He hoped old grudges had been forgotten, but after all, during the conflict he had kicked Macha in the family jewels--an insulting blow that was now the topic of many a whispered joke.

"I'm surprised one with your combative spirit would ask such a question," Jartan replied smoothly.

"Some of the weak-livered among us might not have the courage to ask," Macha replied sharply. "You know my feelings on it, and I'd challenge anyone here who doubted my wish for an occasional good fight with that scum. I just thought I'd ask for those who don't have the courage to do the asking."

Jartan chuckled softly at the reply.

Mark shot a quick look over at Macha, who now stood tall with shoulders back, his black mane tied off in a simple queue. And Macha was looking straight back at him, his eyes cold. Squirming inwardly, Mark tried to hold the gaze, and fortunately Jartan started to talk again so he had reason to look away.