Choice (Majaos Book 3) Page 7

  “I might understand a good deal better if you tell me what you need.” “Sorry, yes, of course. I'm going to need a dragon to search properly - no telling how far it might have gone by now.”

  “How far what has gone?”

  “Sorry, sir. I'm not explaining this very well. It's my head -Oh my head!” he cried out. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he said, “The basilisk! I need to find the basilisk!”

  Chapter 5

  “The basilisk?” wondered the Supreme Knight Commander, incredulously. “Why would we want to find such a dangerous creature? From the report I received from Lady Nightingale, she and her scouting party only barely managed to rescue Miss Bernice and yourself, and still escape with their lives. Now you want to hunt it down?”

  “No, no, no!” Phaer cried. “Not hunt it find it! I need to talk to it.”

  “Talk? You said it wasn't sentient how is it going to talk to you?” Phaer was growing impatient. “I said I need to talk to it - I didn't say anything about a two-way conversation!” He let out a long exhale. “Alright, maybe `talk` was the wrong word, sir. There are other ways of communicating besides speech you know. I need to communicate with it. Better?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Look, are we going to stand here arguing semantics, or-”

  “I don't care what words you use. The point is, why?”

  “Of course you want answers, I understand that. But time is of the essence. We need to hurry. I can explain the details on the way.”

  “Well now, that's another problem. Are you really well enough to travel?”

  “I was well enough to shoot this rabbit, earlier,” Phaer offered.

  “That is hardly the same thing,” the Knight pointed out. “Alright, so I'm ill. So what do you propose I do? Write a letter to Niltsiar asking if she'd mind holding off on taking over the world until I'm feeling a bit better? You brought me along with you as an `expert` on the dragon predator. You hoped I would come up with some kind of inspiration that would help us. Is it so hard, sir, to accept that I have received that inspiration?”

  “From where, though? Where did you get this sudden inspiration?” Phaer decided that any mention of hearing voices would not help his cause, so he said, simply, “From inside my head, sir.” That was true enough. “An important detail I once heard just suddenly came to me,” he explained - still not exactly a lie.

  Marcus considered that for a moment, and finally acquiesced. Within the hour, Phaer was riding dragonback, accompanied by one of the Knights Scouts from Tanya's team and flanked by a pair of mounted Dragon Cavalry Knights. All they had to do was fly back to the area of their first encounter as a starting point. After that, from what Phaer had seen, the impressive creature moved across the land with a casual disregard for obstacles in its path, so tracking should be a simple matter. Willing himself not to scratch the burns that were itching like crazy, he concentrated on chewing on the anaesthetic leaves, and trying desperately not to retch at every movement of the dragon.

  Sure enough, once they found the site of their first encounter on the edge of dark elf territory, it was clear which way the beast had gone. From high in the air, it looked like a giant farmer had lost control of his plough, cutting a great swathe through the land, flattening trees as he went. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about these tracks, was the unwavering straight line. After some time following this line, they spotted the basilisk, making its way forwards at a measured pace. Terrain seemed irrelevant to this creature. In the time they observed its behaviour, it never rushed, never slowed, never paused and never turned so much as one degree from its chosen course. The Knight with whom Phaer flew, noted how different it seemed from the clumsy, predictable beast he had faced. It had been drowsy then. Now it was awake and alert and it seemed truly unstoppable. On and on it went: left, right, tail push; left, right, tail push; left, right, tail push...

  Phaer asked the Knight to take him down a good distance ahead and to one side of the basilisk's extrapolated course. He insisted he must face it alone. The last thing he wanted to do was startle the beast or appear threatening, and it seemed to him that dragons were the only natural creatures on Majaos that might offer challenge enough to worry it. The Knight was uneasy about leaving the half-elf alone, especially in his present state of health, but he obeyed.

  He heard the basilisk before he saw it, crashing through the woodland along its inexorable journey. The hardest part of communicating with a basilisk was getting its attention, Phaer knew, although whether that thought came from himself or someone else in his head, he wasn't sure. He had chosen a large clearing as the meeting site, so it could see him easily and not be startled by his sudden appearance. Phaer was relieved to note that his headaches were all but gone now, when he needed his wits sharp. So as the creature came close, he did the only thing he could think of: he stepped in front of it.

  It ignored him. For a moment, he was worried it might eat him, but no, a basilisk was not a natural carnivore. It attacked only when provoked and ate flesh only when it was starving. Neither was it a herbivore, although it did eat some plants to supplement its main diet: magic. Mostly, it was magisynthetic: capable of absorbing magical energy from its surroundings and converting it into food to fuel its body. It was very efficient. Efficiency was a universal dark elf obsession.

  The basilisk did not even break its stride. It collided with Phaer and simply kept going, its pace unchanging, pushing the half elf along. Phaer hung on to its massive head, scrambling to stay on his feet - he didn't fancy being trampled by the beast. He tried to get a purchase on the ground, to push back and slow the thing down, but it was useless. He had to communicate with it, make it stop. It was no use talking to it - it couldn't understand words. Telepathy was out for the same reason. What it possessed was a form of so-called `sympathic communication`. Empathy was a sharing of emotion, but it was more than that. Sympaths communicated by projecting concept images. Phaer tried projecting images of friendship - no effect. He tried to picture an impenetrable wall in the basilisk's path, hoping it would take that as an instruction to stop. But it had no intention of stopping for an imaginary wall. Phaer was running out of ideas, and running out of clearing. He didn't want to be this close to the creature when trees started snapping like twigs around them. Following an idea from one of the voices, he focussed on images of the desert and the dragon predator.

  That got its attention. It lifted Phaer clear off the ground as it reared and bellowed.

  Never mind its eyes, Phaer thought. Its roar is enough to freeze the blood.

  It was clearly agitated about something now, and Phaer was hanging on for dear life. The half-elf tried to project calm and peace, and after a bit more thrashing around, the basilisk grew less aggressive. At last, it slowly lowered its head, allowing Phaer to let go and step away unharmed, if a little groggy.

  Phaer tried to explain the situation to the basilisk. Even though it couldn't understand his words, he found it helped with projecting pictures.

  The `conversation` was long and difficult, but it certainly seemed to have an effect, because the basilisk roared-screeched once more, sniffed the air and set off in a new direction.

  All at once, the pain rushed back into Phaer's head; his own cry of agony even more disturbing than that of the great beast.

  His vision went white, then black as he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

  * * * * * When Eilidh had brought the others to the study room, Rochelle showed them the pages of several references. Meandering lines on maps showed Life flowing across the world. All mages, whether Life Gift or Life Calling, had seen such maps before, but these were far more complex. They demonstrated that the flow in reality was not idealised. There were offshoots and tributaries, pools and lakes that formed discrete pockets of magic. It looked rather like a geographical map with the charted courses of rivers and streams. However, unlike this analogy, the flow of magic was constantly changing completely at random, or so i
t always seemed.

  “What if,” Rochelle postulated, “there is a pattern? A pattern so complex that it seems random. What if, for example, there are specific, constant anchor points, around which everything else flows?

  “Now let's suppose,” Eilidh picked up, “that these fixed points are places where major flow lines cross.”

  “An intersection or connection point,” Rochelle quoted. “A redistribution point, a point at which a curve crosses itself. That, according to the dictionary, would constitute a node.”

  “Aye,” Granite spoke up, “an' it makes sense that these nodes would manifest themselves in reality as areas of highly concentrated magic.”

  “Thou art talking about a Life Eddy?” Hannah enquired.

  “Aye, that's right.”

  “We didst see one of those in Avidon.”

  “Exactly,” Rochelle agreed.

  “Yes, we think that was a node,” Eilidh asserted.

  “A permanent, fixed place in the magical continuum?” Bunny asked in a slightly belligerent tone. “I suppose `continuum` is a reasonable word to use,” Rochelle allowed. “Do you have a problem with this theory?” Eilidh asked. She knew that look - it usually spelt trouble, but Bernice was, amongst other things, a Life Gifted sorceress, skilled in Shadow magic. Eilidh wasn't certain how much the sumorityl knew about the intricacies of the theory of magic, but one thing she did know was that Bernice Ardra was not to be underestimated...or ignored.

  “Oh, not really,” Bunny said, sarcastically. “Just one tiny little detail, hardly worth mentioning really...”

  “Please, Bernice,” Tanya prompted as if on cue, “go on. Tell us, but go slow for the benefit of those of us who don't have your magical knowledge.” Make that double trouble , Eilidh reconsidered. With Tanya encouraging her, Bunny would only expand her performance. Shame Phaer wasn't with them, the Catalyst thought. Despite being magically Dead, he had often demonstrated how to use one's head, even with matters of magic of which he could have no direct experience. She had developed an almost intuitive working relationship with him on their quest to Marina Fells, and sometimes it felt like her right arm were missing. She regretted the way events had conspired to split them up the way they did.

  Still, wishing he was there wasn't going to make him appear. He would return as soon as he was able. Until then, she would have to put up with some of these theatrics.

  “Alright,” Bunny began, “back when we were in Avidon, we kind of left in a hurry out the back door, so to speak. On our way, we saw this fascinating Life Eddy, and-”

  Tanya held up her hand, as if in school. “Please miss, what's a Life Eddy?”

  The other two oh-so-serious Knights were having a really hard time with this representative of the Knights of Balance. “Like a giant fountain of dazzling light and shimmering colour, reaching high up into the heavens,” Toli supplied, helpfully, as she had once before, making everyone jump. She was so quiet these days, one could almost forget she was there.

  “It's an area in which the flow magic is so concentrated,” Eilidh contributed further, “that it is visible to anyone, Life Gift, Life Calling, Life Potential, and even individuals who are magically Dead.”

  “Like your friend, Phaer,” Tanya mused. “Interesting.”

  “Or a Knight,” Rochelle put in, “who through ritual, is effectively magically Dead.”

  “Anyway,” Bunny continued, “It reacted rather badly to Eilidh here, and had a close encounter with a fire dragon.”

  “A what?” Tanya wondered.

  “A dragon made of fire.”

  Tanya rolled her eyes. “That was a rhetorical question.”

  Bunny grinned. “Oh, sorry. Yes, well, the Great Fountain of Light was lit no longer by the time we left. It seems to me, then, that one of your permanent, fixed points was destroyed.” “No,” Eilidh argued, “I don't think it was. Think about the water analogy. If you drain a lake, you can create a relatively dry spot - a gap in the natural flow of water - but leave it alone again, and the water in the lake willreturn to normal.”

  So that business with the Great Fountain of Light just drained it for a while,” Bunny considered. “That makes sense.” Rochelle took up the thread. “Now, it may be a while before the Fountain of Light regains its former glory, but I agree with Eilidh there's no reason to believe it's not still there. However, in a way, you’re right: judging by the diagrams in these texts, the nodes can move.”

  “So the fixed points aren't fixed,” Granite grumbled. “Of course not, that would be too easy.”

  “Actually,” Eilidh said, “I think that's exactly the point: if it were that easy, someone would have figured it out by now.” “That's right,” Rochelle concurred. “They aren't fixed geographically - just fixed relative to each other - so stream one might cross streams five and six only. What really strikes me about these nodes is that there are eight of them. Add a central convergence node and you get nine.”

  “Nine Secrets!” Granite blurted out. “Are ye saying they're connected with the Secrets?”

  “Yes,” Rochelle confirmed. “It’s complicated, governed by lots of complex magicology and mathematical equations, but there’s definitely a connection with the Nine Secrets.”

  “So then,” Eilidh concluded. “If we can just figure out the locations of all the nodes, we have a chance of finding the Well of Life.”

  Tanya raised her hand again. “Sorry to be a pain with all these questions, Eilidh, but are these nodes dangerous? Bernice mentioned something about an incident in Avidon...”

  “True, but nothing happened at the one near that crypt. I'd put the Avidon incident down to Kismet's meddling.”

  “Who or what is this Kismet?”

  “Oh, he was someone we travelled with for a while,” Toli explained.

  “Fell off a bridge and presumed dead,” Bunny offered, irreverently. “I am not so sure thy presumption is well founded,” Hannah objected. “Whilst I was recovering, Prince Garald wast kind enough to visit upon occasion, and from my discussions with that charming gentleman, Kismet is well known for his dying acts. 'Twould seem that he `dies` whenever he doth grow bored and he doth grow bored with alarming frequency.”

  “You could be right,” Toli put in. “I mean, we didn't see him die, didn't see a body and now that you come to mention it, how would you kill someone who can change shape at will?” “Change shape?” Tanya wondered. “Oh yes,” Toli affirmed, for a moment returning to something like her old self. “Kismet appeared as a strange man with wild stories and wilder clothes, who broke some pretty fundamental magical laws by becoming a sofa, a paperweight, a lamp, a teapot...”

  “...a bright orange door hanger,” Granite offered.

  “Really?” Toli asked. “I never saw that one!”

  “Then I suggest ye look over at yonder door,” he replied.

  Everyone followed his pointed finger and he was right. Sitting there for all to see, was indeed a bright orange door hanger.

  “Kismet?” Eilidh asked the hanger, tentatively. At once, the hanger disappeared and there, just inside the door stood a tall, handsome man of indeterminate age. He was dressed in a white silk shirt, which billowed out of the sleeves of his red velvet jacket. A pair of blue-green, silk breeches and purple hose covered his legs. His clashing ensemble was finished off with a pair of black shoes and a brown hat, sitting on his own short brown hair. At a movement of his left hand, a similarly bright orange silk handkerchief fluttered down from nowhere. He caught it and held it up to his face.

  “Egad!” he exclaimed. “I thought you'd never figure it out!”

  What was I saying about theatrics? Eilidh wondered, despairingly.

  Everyone began talking at once, crowding around Kismet with endless questions: How did he escape? What did he change into to survive the fall? Did he really die and come back? How long had he been in the room? How had he got there? What had he been doing in the intervening weeks and months?

  Within moments the room had des
cended into chaos, leaving Eilidh frustrated and alone, hands on hips, ignored and forgotten. Even Rochelle attempted to get out of her seat at the desk, to abandon the books in favour of this entertaining individual, but a baleful glare stopped her in her tracks. Frustration turned to anger and rage, and with along scream of, “STOP!” Eilidh abandoned self-control and shoved the desk over. It landed with a resounding thud that echoed around the walls, books scattering everywhere as everyone scrambled to get out of the way.

  She allowed the noise to echo and fade into the absolute silence and stillness she had engendered. Climbing onto the overturned desk, she demanded that her assembled companions listen to her and to her alone.

  “Outside these walls, the world hangs by a thread. Mythallen is at war with endless hordes of chaos creatures that we have no idea how to stop. The might and resources of the Hand of Darkness Liberation Front in Avidon has added its support to the enemy. The Dark Knights are trying to contain them, but even if they can, this takes them out of the main fighting. Cities are burning, people are dying, Baltacha - the breadbasket of Mythallen - is under siege and without their supplies, those who don't die in the war will starve slowly instead. Our capital, the Ancient and beautiful city of Merlyon has been reduced to a pile of smouldering rubble!”

  She paused to choke back her tears at the image. She couldn't crack now. It was vital that they take her seriously. She had so far been content to let them all kind of meander in roughly the same direction, pursuing their own ideas and agendas. Now they needed to be unified. Like it or not, she was the leader of these disparate, desperate people and by the gods she would act like one.

  “The time for discussion and debate and -- and-- the ridiculous antics of mysterious strangers is over,” she continued in a more measured tone, whilst losing none of the fire or steel in her voice. “Now, our court jester over there,” she gestured to indicate Kismet, “may be more entertaining than listening to a boring lecture on magic from Rochelle and me, but in case you've forgotten, we are the only people in the world who can stop the mastermind behind the destruction outside - Niltsiar. Our job is to locate the Well of Life and find some way to use that against our nemesis. That requires us to think! To use our heads. Each of us has knowledge that no-one else possesses. We have a puzzle before us, and if we all bring our pieces to the table, maybe we'll see the big picture together.”