Rift in the Races (42 page)

The door opened into a large, round room with bookshelves lining the walls, mostly filled with books, but regularly jammed with strange objects of indescribable variety as well. Tables were set about the room at odd angles, placed without a thought for design elements, room layout or even basic geometry. Each table was heaped with yet more books and such a collection of eclectic antiques as Orli could ever have imagined possible—although she could not be sure they were antique or contemporary on this world. Mixed throughout and often balanced precariously upon all of that were uncountable numbers and shapes of containers, from porcelain jars and elegant crystal decanters to the most crudely constructed wooden boxes and wicker baskets she’d ever seen, more than a few looking as if they’d been built by ancient primitives of the lowest sort. It seemed as if Tytamon had containers taken from every epoch through all of time, from cave dweller to, well, the modernity of magical Prosperion.

“Stay put,” Tytamon said as he pulled off his wet cloak and shook it. “I’ll be right back.”

He left her standing in the bare little space and went into the round chamber beyond, searching through the clutter on a plank table near the center of the room. He pushed aside a crude wooden carving of some sort of tentacled creature—or perhaps it was a wicked-looking tree, Orli could hardly tell—and found a clay bowl. He pulled out a curl of bark that Orli’s botanist’s eye immediately recognized as cinnamon, which he held aloft as if he’d just found a bit of gold in a garbage can.

He grabbed a candle off a table as he returned, speaking a few words as he approached, which set the candle aflame as if by its own decision. “Don’t be afraid of the heat,” he said, coming to stand next to her again. “And close your eyes or they’ll sting for a week.”

She did as she was told. She couldn’t see what happened after, but he spoke five words, and then there followed a blast of heat that seemed to pass through her entire body, frightening in the flare of its intensity but not painful. Then, quick as it had started, it was done.

“There you go,” he said. “All dry, I think. Yes?”

She opened her eyes, and despite realizing it was true upon his pronouncement, she looked anyway and saw that, in fact, she was completely dry.

“That’s amazing!”

“Indeed,” he said, turning and moving to replace the candle upon the table from whence it had come. “Would that most problems were so easily solved.”

She nodded. That was true.

“I apologize for being so abrupt,” he said, his sober tone indicating more than just a segue underway, “but it was of utmost imperative that I speak to you alone before anyone else did. And I can only hope it is not already too late. I was slow enough to think of it as it was. Age fills my head with more cobwebs than this old keep has.”

She blinked into the expanse of his vast workshop but said nothing. What could possibly be imperative in a way that made him need to talk to
her
?

He faced her and began to speak but stopped. He waved her out of the small chamber, an apology suggested by the angle of his shoulders and a crooked grin. “Come out. You don’t have to stay in there.” He removed a stack of parchments from a chair that was probably plush and luxurious a few hundred years ago and invited her to sit.

She did, sending out puffs of dust in all directions, the motes of which churned and sparkled occasionally in the flicker of lamps and candlelight.

“Have you told anyone about the Liquefying Stones?” No preamble. No more courtesies. Just that.

The question surprised her, but she didn’t hesitate to reply. “No. Nobody. I didn’t think to, honestly. And Altin asked me not to bring it up. He said it’s top secret.”

“Good.” Tytamon appeared more than simply relieved, the rigidity of his posture relaxing as if the stress of an enormous load had just been lifted off. But he still felt compelled to verify. “You are certain? Not even in passing?”

She thought back, just to be sure, but slowly she began to shake her head. She definitely had not. “Nope, not one person,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Good. You have no idea how vital that secret is.”

She could measure the magnitude of it in his expression, his body language and even the way he breathed. It frightened her some. “What’s going on?”

“Something potentially horrendous,” he said. “Something so bad I am afraid to speak it lest I give it life.”

She nodded, waiting. He seemed to be thinking about something, not so much whether he was going to tell her—she could sense that he would—but just watching something frightful playing out in his mind.

“They’re all gone,” he said at last. “The Liquefying Stones. The orcs took the two I had locked away when they raided the keep. And now, Altin’s is lost as well.”

“It is?” she looked startled and was about to ask why, but then realized why immediately. “Oh, no,” she muttered, the
Oh
protracted with the realization of what that news might portend.

“Ohhh, indeed,” he echoed. “And worse, it may actually be harder to find his than it will be to find the other two. His could be anywhere. It could be lying somewhere in the forest, either on the floor amongst the fallen limbs and leaves or stuck in a crook high up in a tree. It could be somewhere in the meadows lost in all that grass. It could be buried in the muck of the soldiers camp, trampled into the ground by unthinking feet, or somewhere in the rubble heap of Altin’s tower, either beneath the reconstruction already underway or in the scrap piles out beyond the gorge. Or, worst of all, it could have already found its way onto the black market of magical artifacts, sold by some idiot with a want for both ale and the wits to prevent catastrophe.”

“Oh, no,” she said again.

“Indeed,” he repeated.

“So, what happens if it’s on the black market? Can’t you find out? You know, doing a divining spell or, maybe, with some of this?” She indicated the entire room with a circular motion of her hand.

“Of course I’ve divined it.” He snapped that, and he immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long pair of days. I haven’t slept.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She wondered what it might be like if Captain Asad apologized every once in a while.

“I’m not sure how much Altin has explained about that type of spell, but there are great vagaries in casting it, and answers require interpretations that are often as amiss as they are accurate. My particular skill in it, while greater than Altin’s, is still limited. And, as I can’t tell anyone else about the problem, I’m stuck with what I know.”

“What about the Queen? Can you tell her? Surely she has trustworthy resources.”

He’d been about to sit as she asked the question, but he nearly leapt upright again, as if he’d just sat upon a thorn. “She is the last person on the planet who can find out about Liquefying Stone.” He strode to where Orli sat and leaned down to where his face was within arm’s reach. She could feel his breath, smell the lingering sweetness of pipe smoke in his beard. “Orli, you must never mention it to her. Ever. Do you hear me, child? Especially not her.”

She wasn’t too keen on the “child” thing, but the severity in his eyes got her past it just as fast as it came. She nodded, meekly at first, but then honestly. “I won’t. I promise. I didn’t know.”

He studied her for several heartbeats, those icy orbs seeming to bore into her like a mining drill. She wondered if he were doing some sort of magic on her to confirm it. Or cement it into place.

“Good,” he said at last.

He went back to the huge table that served him as a desk and sat down. He spread his hands on the wood before him. Orli had to turn sideways in her chair to face him squarely. They sat in silence for a while.

“She’ll use it,” he said finally, answering what she had not the courage to ask. “Karroll will use it. To ‘unify’ all of Prosperion. To ‘bring peace.’” Sarcasm dripped from the statement like rainwater through leaky thatch.

“I thought Prosperion
was
unified and at peace.”

“Only the humans of Kurr are unified,” he said, “and only because the War Queen
unified
them.” The emphasis was conspicuous. “And Prosperion is peaceful because we have détente with the elves.”

“Détente?”

“Yes. They won’t conjure demons on us, and we won’t conjure demons on them. And, frankly, the only thing keeping that in place is the fact that nobody has figured out how to put them back once a gate is opened. The bottle uncorks and everything pours out. Basilisks out of the bag and all that rot. That is the foundation of our treaty, well, that and, of course, a few myths about Anvilwrath and his exiled brother Tidalwrath. But religions die over time, and Karroll would burn down the elves this minute if she thought she could pull it off. They would probably do the same to us. Power is what it is. So is fear.”

“She wouldn’t do that. I’ve heard all about Duador. Altin says everyone is still reeling from the horrors of that. A whole race of people were destroyed.”

“Yes, that remains on everyone’s mind. But still the threat looms, or the threat of the threat looms, to put it more accurately. ‘The elves sit over there in String, just waiting to come get us,’ the people say. Everyone in the kingdom is certain of it. Waiting for it to happen.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone with enough power and wealth to be afraid of losing it.”

“Do the elves make raids on Kurr sometimes?”

“Not in a long time.”

“Maybe they are perfectly happy where they are.”

“Perhaps. But fear is a monster in its own right, and while I don’t mean to disparage the Queen because I count her as a great friend, it is in play whether anyone will admit it or not. It’s always underneath. And pride is worse. If Karroll has a weakness, it’s that. It manifests in her desire for power. She wants to rule it all because she’s convinced she’s the only one who can do it right. And, of course, she always needs to win.”

“Well, then why the détente? Why doesn’t she take her huge armies and go get them?” Orli was having trouble reconciling all the stories Altin had told her of Prosperion history during their conversations, especially when they were chasing sunsets together. For the most part, she’d gathered the War Queen had brought a lasting peace to Kurr, albeit a bit brutally over the course of a three-year span long ago. Tytamon’s tale wasn’t matching up very well.

“Because she can’t win. Many believe that’s what’s keeping them from doing the same to us. They believe both sides think that if they could pull it off, they’d be doing Prosperion a favor by getting rid of a planetary parasite.”

Orli nodded. It reminded her of Earth. Maybe people were the same everywhere. “So, I take it the Liquefying Stones, even just one of them, would be the difference?” she asked. “If a war broke out?”

“No. The outcome would be exactly the same. But having it would give her the confidence to try,” he said. “And that would be the catastrophe.”

“So why tell
me
? What am I supposed to do? I don’t know anything about magic, or even your world. I mean, I suppose I can go poke around in the grass and climb some trees looking for it. I can work a shovel or a crowbar well enough, but somehow that doesn’t seem like enough.” She was pretty sure that’s not what he had in mind.

“I’m telling you because you are one of three people on the planet who knows Liquefying Stone exists. And I intend to keep it that way. Which makes you a necessary resource, whether either you or I would have chosen it to be so.”

“So you, me and Altin are really the only people who know it exists at all?”

“Altin is not on the planet,” he said. “Captain Andru knows of the stone too. I had to tell him. He’ll take the secret to his grave—the boy carries in him the last seedling of the old world honor, and he gave his word. I have privately tasked him with finding the two stones the orcs have stolen. Frankly, the whole thing is a mess.”

Orli nodded, silent, a thousand thoughts running through her head. On one hand, it was sobering, and perhaps validating, to be given a part in such a globally significant scheme; but on the other hand, it was way more pressure than she wanted in her life. She’d only barely been able to reconcile herself to communications duties on
Citadel
for the sake of the fleet and preventing genocide at the hands of the Hostiles, and now she was involved in preventing more genocide at the hands of either humans or elves, maybe both. And there was more genocide pending from the orcs.

What the hell is wrong with the universe?

She marveled at the unending hostility everywhere. The more she considered it, the more she just wanted to go be a botanist and live on the edge of some field somewhere. She just wanted to live. Love someone. Be loved. Have a baby. Get a dog. Maybe a dragon or a unicorn. This was Prosperion, after all. Who knew what was possible here? She just wanted to exist in the sweetness of a moment that spanned the course of human years. Not all that other crap. Let them fight without her. Why must she be dragged into the endless hate and avarice? She hadn’t even been on Prosperion ten minutes yet, and it was happening again, she was being sucked into yet another war, an ancient one no less. It truly sickened her, and she clutched her stomach as a knot formed itself there.