Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (10 page)

While Humi managed the bulk of project operations, Kragen wasted most of his time mired in bureaucratic pursuits, espionage, resolving petty squabbles, and coordinating the various secret aspects of the project that each wizard was responsible for. This couldn’t be avoided, because each member of the cabal was a specialist in some area vital to their combined success.

Leaving the segregated walls of the back island, Tumberlin traveled along the north wall of the abbey, which was guarded by the sinister Vlekmar, a ki mage. The man’s second-cousin thrice removed, or some inbred relation the apprentice could never remember—another one of the spindly leeches—guarded the southern route. Tumberlin never spoke to the pair or their spice-scented louts of men if he could help it. From this vantage he could see the twin towers guarding the bridge to the mainland. The fire mage Wrathrok occupied the southern post. The apprentice avoided that one as well. An undisputed genius, the fire mage had rediscovered the ancient techniques of using volatile gases and rare elements for fusing shards of the Emperor’s Glass back together stronger than the original. The bulging-eyed wizard had gone mad, though, from inhaling the mercury-laden fumes. And how did Kragen use this arcane process that any sage would die for? They spent all day converting treasure from the sea into queer, little paving stones! The soldiers were going hungry and his master wasted a fortune on this art project that they could walk on.

Tumberlin managed to reach the courtyard proper without undue harassment. This was the domain of Dvardoc, the artificer. The short man didn’t like to speak, and when he did, it was in a stilted dialect of old Kiateran. Only Tumberlin and two or three master craftsmen could make any sense of him. But Kragen’s apprentice knew the crafty, old dwarf could speak the Imperial tongue as well as any of them. Dvardoc controlled the masons, smiths, and glass workers constructing the mystery known as the Mandala.

Around the borders of the giant, hexagonal pattern lay a brick path and a series of closely spaced stone posts to keep people off the work in progress. On top of each post was a delicate, glass orb containing an ornate, sesterina, windmill-like device. Whenever spirit energy approached the pattern, the windmills would spin. Of course, Dvardoc didn’t invent these; rather, he’d collected them from a dozen archaeological digs. In some cases, the dwarf had even repaired them. Tumberlin understood very little of this place. Why use devices to warn of spirits when a high mage with a shard of glass could see them plainly?

The battlements around the courtyard were hung with highly polished mirrors made from thin layers of sesterina over cheap, wooden shields. The concave mirrors were placed to reflect the light of the Compass Star onto the pattern. His master had each mirror draped with a linen cloth so they wouldn’t dull before the time of the planned spell was at hand.

Tumberlin gave the sentry his password and crossed the long, wooden bridge to the far shore. There, the men in the compound jeered icer. Thval. The sick ki mage’s bondsmen disliked him and called him names, like Lumpolard, when they thought the apprentice wasn’t listening. As punishment, Tumberlin forced them to undertake an unending series of drills, exercises, and inspections. They might grumble, but Kragen would hold them to the letter of their contract and put his full weight behind the wind wizard.

When the apprentice reached the top of the tower, he continued to stare at the pattern from above. It had six man-sized, protective circles around the circumference, one for each of the wizards, plus a larger one in the center for Lord Kragen. This thing contained the entire reason for the sept’s gathering. Spiraling outward from Kragen’s circle were all the best, prize fossils. The other mages had a few minor ones by their circles, but Kragen had five human imprints around his, and space for one more. Kragen refused to show him the technique for summoning humans until the project was complete. What a priceless collection!

If Tumberlin had five such specimens, he could become the court wizard for any king in the world. But Kragen just put them out in the rain until they gathered mold.

A wooden stockade, points facing inward, surrounded the pattern, hiding it from the prying eyes of the outside world. The Mandala was an enigma. The pattern of interlocking whorls and runes was unlike any the apprentice had ever seen. At the locus of all of these wards, at the far end of the court, in the entrance to the inner garden, was a giant, rose-colored lens. Every day the dwarf artificer Dvardoc measured the angles anew and made some minor adjustment in the frame or the tilt of the lens.

Why was it aimed into the garden? Why were the palace defenses directed inward as well? What was in the innermost chamber where no man could go?
Tumberlin mused from the guard tower of the former Spirit Temple as the morning fog dissipated.

In the morning, Tashi rose early, brewing tea and trying to ingratiate himself with the smith. But, like a loud bell around his neck, Babu clung to the sheriff, his constant noise warning off the quarry Tashi was trying to approach. He took solace in the knowledge that the journey through the aqueduct demanded total silence. The smooth, stone channel was so narrow that they had to travel single-file. Furthermore, they had to walk hunched over to avoid being seen. During the night, the mercenaries decided that the most effective use of the shards of Emperor’s Glass would be as spearheads, mounted on saplings. Though versatile, the spears were too long and awkward to wield in the confined space, and the men poked each other with them whenever the entourage halted suddenly. The possessed man had to be carried between two soldiers like a hammock. Each time they bumped him against the interior of the aqueduct, the lieutenant snarled angrily and had to be cudgeled into submission.

Every few bits, the lead archer would poke his head up and take a bearing. Nobody else could see much more than the rear end of the next man ahead. They made excellent progress until the conduit came to a bend and began sloping downward. Gallatin, an archer with a good eye for terrain and fortifications, returned from a short reconnaissance. He squeezed past several men to get to Sulandhurka. Tashi and the smith were right behind the leader, with the lieutenant and his handlers last.

“Good news and bad,” whispered Gallatin. “We’re in range of the objective. Even though the sun’s burning off our cover fog, I didn’t see anything between us and the crossroads. But we have a problem: the whole place is flooded. The Emperor’s Road is built up on a dike, so I guess this happens a lot. The hilltop is cut off like an island.” The contrast between the lush, textured green of the hill and the smooth blue-gray of the water on all sides made the archer feel calm and tranquil.

“It’s a typical moat,” muttered the slaver. “Let me guess, there’s a long, narrow boardwalk leading out into the bay, the only way we can get to the front gate?”

Gallatin nodded. “There are two sets of gates; one on this side of the water and another on the island. The walls around the island aren’t that formidable, and it looks like the drawbridge is down right now. If we were standing on solid ground, one of us could sprint the distance from here to the courtyard in fifty heartbeats.”

The slaver risked a peek over the edge. “The defenders will have all the time they need to pick us off if someone gives them warning, but I expected that much. Our real problem is that the entrance to their overblown moat is guarded by wizards in two stone towers and blocked by an iron-reinforced gate.”

Tashi poked his head up with the rest of the prairie dogs and minimized the difficulties. “True, but look how much the towers have eroded. That one’s scarcely twenty feet high at the lowest point. And we don’t have to go through the gate. The aqueduct arches over the road and cascades into that feeder pipe that travels beneath the wooden scaffold to the island. All we have to do is send a few of your gentlemen to sneak up on those amateurs from behind. If you girls can’t handle a little action, run along home. I can do this myself if I have to.”

Sulandhurka weighed the options. “If we were about to be crushed by a rock slide, you’d point out the vein of gold ore in the foremost boulder.” Babu chuckled at this. The slaver sighed in resignation and signaled his men to advance, putting his best knifemen in the front.

As the four knifemen crept forward over the stone arch that spanned the highway, a few guild archers stood behind, waiting to provide a distraction. They got within twenty feet of the waterfall when the high-pitched screams of wild-pig spirits split the morning’s quiet. When the men panicked at the supernatural alarm, the possessed lieutenant was able to wriggle free and dive over the edge into the water beneath. Witnessing the escape, Tashi flung himself over the rim to follow.

Sulandhurka was faced with potential calamity on two fronts at once. Making a snap decision, the slaver tapped the two men closest to him and ordered, “Climb down and get them!” Babu and the smith hastened to obey. The men in front were able to avoid injury from the spirit boars by jabbing repeatedly with their glass-tipped spears.

One of the archers encouraged them further when he announced, “You can see them through the shards of Emperor’s Glass. I can make out the outlines, and they’re backing away. They’re afraid of us!” It appeared that they could make it through this obstacle unscathed.

Just then, the lead archer made out a faint shape streaking through the dimly lit sky. When he ducked, everyone behind him did likewise without question. A huge bottle landed in the center of the knifemen, and the explosion that followed was tremendous. The closest man died with glass fragments in his face and throat. When the fireball blossomed, two more men were blown out of the aqueduct and died on impact with the road below. A fourth man received such severe burns on his back and arms that he passed out from the pain and drowned face-down in the shallow water, trampled by panicked pigs. The survivors were too busy putting out their own singed parts to give him aid.

Already climbing over the edge of the aqueduct, the smith and the comedian let go at the moment of the explosion, dropping the remaining ten feet to the muddy water.

Sulandhurka instinctively picked up the sword from a burned man and strapped it onto his own right hip. Another of the Honors had been lost in the swamp below, but there’d be time enough to retrieve it when the killing was over.

“Wizard in the near tower. He threw something that burns,” gasped the archer in front of the slaver.

The herd of swine squealed even louder than before, irritating the slaver past rationality. They couldn’t be affected by the fire, so it must be the loud noises they were reacting to. He’d led his men straight into a killing box.

All four men below staggered and slogged through mud in a slow-motion chase toward the safety of the highway berm. In spite of the chains dangling from him, Hon Li made it to the earthen bank first. Rather than crouch behind it for cover, the possessed man climbed the slope, grunting like one of the wild boars. Tashi made a desperate grab for his heel, but got kicked into the mud for his troubles.

“Oh, gods, he’s got a whole pile of them,” muttered the archer.

“But how do they work?” wondered the slaver.

As soon as he asked, the wizard in black obliged him with another demonstration, lighting a rag wick on the top of some sort of glass vase. By hand, he lobbed the container over the edge toward the mercenary on the road. The wizard in the second tower held an amulet around his neck and gestured as if guiding the missile. Unseen winds buffeted the vessel until it landed on the lieutenant’s toes, cracked, and detonated. The fireball made all the mercenary guild members dive into the water.

Tashi hugged closer to the sodden slope, holding his still-sheathed sword out of the waist-high water. When Babu and the smith surfaced, the comedian spit and whispered, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Tashi removed the encumbrance of his heavy travel pack. Anchoring it safely to the hillside, the sheriff took just his weapons and other essentials that he’d need for the battle. Harnessing his sheath to his back, he said, “I came up with the plan the last few times. Now it’s your turn.”

“Don’t worry,” said Babu. “The boss will come up with something nasty. He always does when somebody pisses him off like this.”

Soon, three flaming arrows arced across the sky toward the nearest tower. Tashi heard the deep thunk of one striking solid wood and the sounds of frantic patting. While the wizard Wrathrok tried to put out the initial fire, three more arrows sped in. Tumberlin, the wind wizard, managed to deflect them only slightly. Instead of hitting Wrathrok or the wooden floor, one new, flaming brand landed in the center of the collection of vases. The fire wizard was unable to stop the reaction in time. During the third wave of arrows, the entire stockpile of odd jars detonated.

The tower’s top third shattered outward in a blast so powerful that attackers and defenders alike were knocked over by the shockwave. Ears popped and rock rained down on the wooden gate. No match for the explosion-propelled, stone blocks, the right side of the gate snapped from its hinges anddipped to the road.

The wizard in the left tower had ducked out of sight just before the annihilation of his confederate. “He doesn’t know there are only about six of us left,” whispered Tashi. “Follow my lead.” Climbing onto the road, the sheriff shouted, “Third battalion, charge!” Then he ran for the smoking ruin of the gate. Debris floated down in small pieces, but he ignored the stinging fog in his rush of adrenaline.

“Second battalion, charge. Take no prisoners!” bellowed the smith, taking out his heaviest hammer and copying the swordsman.

Babu grinned perversely and shouted, “Catapults, launch when ready!” Then he drew his new blade for the first time and scampered more cautiously to the base of the right tower. When Tumberlin heard mercenary boots thumping over the front gate and a loud splash in the bay, he called for a retreat.

Only two dazed men of the right-tower garrison had survived the disaster. When they tried to crawl from the ruins, Babu and the smith dispatched them in short order. Their opponents were little better than spear-toting street-thugs who hadn’t regained their equilibrium.