Nightlord: Orb (85 page)

Back to my point about magical background radiation.  What are the effects on life in differing universes?  Do creatures evolve to use magic if they live in a high-magic area?  Or, in such a universe, are they simply created out of hand?  Do people develop the capacity to use magic in a magical environment?  Or is the capacity inherent in humanity?  Does growing up in a magical world make it easier to work with large quantities of the stuff?

Someone find me an evolutionary biologist.

Since I was on a spellcasting roll, I put in a request to the mountain for a sand table.  Where my old one went, I have no idea, but I needed a new one.  Fortunately, rebuilding it would be quick and easy compared to inventing the thing.  While the mountain put the material parts of the table together, I started putting together some power batteries—turbofans blowing into power circles.  Later, I’d transfer power into gems and use them in my spells.

Can I automate that?  Maybe if I build some sort of pump, it could take the output of a turbofan and start filling the spell matrix in a gem.  I did something like that in the RV, but around here, the input power is much greater.  There’s a real risk of overcharging.  I’d need a safety switch to detect when the gem was nearing capacity; the things are dangerous if they let go.  The automation would save a lot of time and effort, though. Cramming the contents of a power circle into a gem is hard work, the magical equivalent of operating a pump by hand.  I’ll have to look into it.

Right now, I have a workroom, magical energy, and time.  I can’t search a whole world by hand.  What I can do is put together a search algorithm and build a computer to run it.  Sort of.  If I can find Tort or T’yl that way, I will.  If I can’t… well, that will tell me something else.

I went through sunset in the waterfall-shower.  While I rinsed, I knew Bronze was going down to meet Tianna.  I could feel her telling me so; I acknowledged.  It was good to know where she was off to in case I developed a sudden need for several tons of fire-breathing metal.

After the shower, it was back to work for me.  The mountain did a fine job on the sand table, probably because it remembered the old one.  Once it finished shaping the table and filling the upper portion with fine sand, it separated the table from the floor to make it an independent object—and therefore something I could enchant.

From experience, I know the mountain isn’t smart.  On the other hand, it seems to have a fantastic memory.

For the next half-hour, I set up most of the preliminary magical matrices inside the table.  Not really enchantments, but spells to act as placeholders for other effects that would be enchantments.  Scaffolding, if you like.  It was going nicely when the Kingsway gate chimed in my head.  It wasn’t disruptive to my concentration. The psychic chime was no worse than a regular doorbell.

I was glad of the warning.  It let me put things in order, tack some things in place, tie off some others, and reach a point of stability.  I headed for the great hall and entered it about the same time someone put a hand in the hole.  Since the hole was in the wall, not the door, I pushed on the other side and stepped back while it swung open.

Mary craned her neck to look in.

“Do I have an invitation?”

“You have a standing invitation,” I told her.  “My casa essu casa.”

“I think that’s ‘Mi casa es
su
casa,’ actually.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Of course.  How else do you expect to deal with Mexican drug cartels?”

“Badly?”

“I’ll say.  And they taste terrible.”

“I am
so
not going there.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” she sighed.  “Pushy, chauvinistic bastards.  Is there something that passes for a bathroom in this pile of rock?”

“Right this way.”  I pushed the door closed and showed her to the bathroom.  She looked around the bathchamber with an expression of delight.

“Say, this is actually pretty nice!”

“I thank you on behalf of the mountain.”

“Yeah, about that?”

“Yes?”

“I get the impression from things you’ve said,” she began, stripping down for the waterfall, “the mountain is alive and can rearrange itself.”

“That’s correct.”

“And it… what?  Walked away from the mountain range and grew a city?”

“I suspect it was responding to my dreams while I was sleeping in it, but yes.  It took eighty-seven years, you know.”

“So, it made a city, canals, another city’s walls, and thousands of miles of roads?” she asked, scrubbing in the falling water.

“Yes,” I agreed, uncomfortably.  “Why?”

“Did you ever consider how dangerous this mountain of yours could be?”

“I ate an army in here, remember?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about.  Yes, that’s one example, but I mean… well, consider the city walls around Mochara.”

“Okay.”

“What happens if you tell the mountain to lower them?”

“They’ll shrink down.  My guess is they’ll shrink about one to three inches an hour, but I haven’t measured it; that’s a ballpark figure.”

“So, in one day—dawn to dawn—they’ll drop between two and six feet?  It’ll take days to make them disappear entirely?”

“Yes.  The mountain is a huge pet rock.  It’s the fastest pet rock I know of, but it’s still, fundamentally, geography, not biology.”

“Okay.  I feel a little better.  But your pet rock could… could close off roads to slow down armies, dam or divert rivers, bridge rivers, cover farmland in a giant parking lot, even grow a dome of stone over a city and seal everyone inside.  Couldn’t it?”

“Yes.  It could,” I agreed.  I know the secrets of the mountain; it’s a powerful, even dangerous thing.  It could flow over the whole world and flatten it all, bury everything under a layer of stone a mile deep and crush all life on the planet.  Flat world.  Plate.  Gigantic dinner plate, if it wanted.

“However,” I added, “there are other factors which come into play.  It’s not invulnerable.  There are ways to stop it, even kill it.”

“Like what?  It’s a rock.  How do you kill a rock?  Gigantic hammers?  Meteor strikes?”

“I’d rather not say.  It’s a risky course of action and could, if done incorrectly, destroy the world.”

Mary stepped out of the waterfall and into the hot section of the bath.

“How do you mean that?  End civilization as we know it, destroy all life on the planet, or literally destroy the planet?”

“Done properly, I don’t see why it couldn’t turn the whole world into a seething ball of energy expanding as the speed of light.”

“You know what?  I don’t want to know.  Forget I asked.”

“Oh?”

“I actively try to avoid anything that could destroy the world.  Bio-weapons, nuclear launch codes, all that stuff—I won’t steal it, I won’t sell it, and I strongly prefer to have nothing to do with any of it.  I’ll stick to gold, jewels, cash, and similar sorts of valuables, if that’s all right with you.”

“I am in total agreement.”

“Soap?”

“Huh?  Oh.  Not that I’ve seen.”

“I’ll get by.  This transformation thing still stinks.  Judging by you, I assume it doesn’t get any better with age?”

“Why do you think I like showers so much?” I asked.  She made a face.  Then the Kingsgate alarm went off again.  Her expression underwent a rapid series of changes.

“What did I…?”

“That’s my gate alarm.  Someone’s come through the gate at the top of the Kingsway.”

“I thought I saw a rider on the bridge or road or whatever it is,” she admitted.  “I was busy climbing the wall, rather than walking up like a target.  By the way, did you ask it to change the long road-thing?  The Kingsway.”

“I did.  Stairs down at the bottom?”

“That’s probably what it was doing,” she agreed.  “It wasn’t finished, obviously, but something was happening.  People were coming by to watch it grow.”

“Fair enough.  I’ll go answer the door.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’ll get it.  Later, I’ll show you the lower door,” I promised, and headed for the great hall again.  Whoever it was took their time about getting to the main door.  Maybe I should include a psychic image along with the alarm so I’ll have some idea what—or who—to expect.

The door signaled and I opened it.  Outside, Bronze stood well back, beyond the outward swing of the door.  Closer, an old man leaned on the wall beside the door.  I could see his death around him like a cloud.

“Hello?” he whispered/wheezed, peering sightlessly into the hall.  I forgot the room was as dark as a cave.  The whole palace area is.  At night, I don’t notice.  During the day, I conjure magical lights.  Whatever happened to my undermountain lighting system, I wonder?  Maybe it’s just in the public areas, lower down.

“I’m here,” I told him, a whisper from the darkness.

“As am I.”  He leaned more heavily against the wall and slid slowly down to seat himself.  I wasn’t sure it was voluntary.  I glanced at Bronze.  She shook her mane and flicked an ear.  Someone had helped him up onto her back at Tianna’s urging.

Tianna and I were going to have a talk.

“You’ve come a long way,” I observed.

“One last journey,” he coughed.  “That’s what I’ve got before me.”

“Indeed.  Tell me, are you ready to go?”

“I don’t have much choice.  It’s either this, or take the long road to the edge of the world.”

“I understand.  Most people, I’d help them go in their sleep.  You’re still awake; you can talk.  You have to ask.”

“Riding the death-steed up the Kingsway wasn’t enough?” he asked.  He coughed again and spat.  I saw his point, but he added, “All right.  I’m done.  Help me go, please.”

“I’m sorry for making you say it.”

“Apology accepted, if you make this quick.”

“Consider it done.”

And I did.  His name was Simmish and he was sixty-eight years old.  He spent his life as a potter, first in Mochara, then in Karvalen.  His wife died a year ago and his youngest, the son, now ran the pottery business.  His daughters were married off and living elsewhere.  He tried not to offend the gods, only asked for help from them when sorely needed, and hoped the Queen would find a King who would be good for the kingdom.

I think I liked him.

“How did you know?” I asked, looking at Bronze.  She snorted.  Of course she knew.  I would have known, wouldn’t I?  I would have walked through town and smelled him.  When Tianna took her to Simmish’s house, Bronze could smell him, too.

I didn’t know she could do
that
, either.

“Want to take him back down to his family?” I asked.  Bronze nodded.  I put him up in the saddle and arranged him as though he had simply slumped forward.  I suppose I could have slung him over Bronze’s shoulders, but I didn’t think it would look right.  It’s hard to die with dignity; there was no need to take what was left.

Bronze’s mane flowed backward, as though in a high wind.  Strands splayed over Simmish’s head and shoulders, holding him in place.  That would work.

I went inside while Bronze walked back down.  Mary was toweling her hair and humming to herself.

“Trouble?”

“Only someone who needed help.  I gave it to him.”

“Shucks.”

“Shucks?” I repeated, surprised.

“I could have used dinner.  And a native would help with my cultural context and language, right?”

“You raise valid points I should have thought of.  Okay, I’ll remember, next time.”

Getting a little thick in the head, Boss?

You’re not helping.

“Did you have a good day?” I asked, to Mary.

“I did, thank you.  It’s a big city and quite cosmopolitan.  The people are friendly, for the most part.  The place reminds me of some smaller cities in Italy.  It’s bigger, obviously, but it’s got that sort of feel to it.  I think it’s the curved streets.  One of the stranger things is the low population density.  You could easily fit three times as many people in this place without crowding.  It’s like you built the city first and then people showed up—which is what happened, I gather.”

“Well, sort of, yes.  It wasn’t intentional.”

“I’m not complaining.  It’s nice to have a bustling metropolis with a more spread-out, relaxed sort of feel to it.  Mind you, the people are sometimes rather crude and abrasive by modern standards, but they’re also mostly honest, hard-working folks.  At least, so it seems to me, the tourist.”

“Crude and abrasive?”

“Let’s just say they have a robust and earthy viewpoint.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“I was propositioned a few times, mostly by someone grabbing something and asking if I’d ever been with a real man before.”

“Did they live?” I asked.

“Yes.  No broken bones, either.  When in Rome, that kind of thing.  They were good about being turned down.  Thing is, nobody seemed to think it was an unusual way to ask a lady on a date.  Bystanders and witnesses didn’t even bother to shrug.”