Gathering of the Titans: The Tol Chronicles Book 2 (12 page)

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she bowed and backed away. After about five steps she turned and ran.

Aspet returned the crown to the RPC captain for safekeeping.

“Sometimes I enjoy doing that and sometimes I don’t”

“How about this time?” Boogla asked.

“Enjoyed it.”

Eventually, with the help and oversight of the RSCA, they levered the automaton out of its sarcophagus and began examining it. The RPC stood close by and fretted. It made them very nervous when Aspet put himself in harm’s way by fiddling around with an ancient mechanism with unknown defensive capabilities. Previous kings had shown little interest in such matters. What they failed to take into account is that standing in front of them were probably the two top hackers in Tragacanth—and if there’s one thing hackers love to do, it’s take things apart and (sometimes) put them back together.

With the help of some nifty tools requisitioned by Aspet, the Royal Couple managed to open a panel on the automaton and discovered that it was a mere shell. The internal components had been removed and stored somewhere, and that somewhere now became their next search objective.

It was fortunate that they experienced such success initially, because the Quest for the Guts was a dismal failure. They did uncover a great many interesting artifacts along the way, but the automaton works remained elusive. During a rest period Aspet was exploring inside the shell with his fingers when came across something that felt like a latch. It felt so much like a latch, in fact, that he pulled it and was gratified when the entire structure popped open like a casket.

The interior was not lined with connections for wires and pipes, as they had expected, but instead padded and fitted with layers of some strange metallic fiber. They puzzled over it for some time, until Aspet suddenly perked up.

“Boogla, come here. Lie down in this.”

“I’m sorry; I thought you told me to lie down in that.”

“I did. I think that’s what it’s for.”

“Napping?”

“No, no. I think it was meant to be some sort of protective garment.”

“I don’t want to lie down in it.”

“Fine.
I’ll
do it, then.”

An RPC agent appeared as if out of nowhere. “Please allow me, Your Majesty. We don’t know what it might do.”

“Right as usual,” sighed Aspet, “Carry on, then.”

The agent eased himself into the shell and fit almost perfectly, as the ogre sizing was the result of superstructure in the apparatus.

“Good,” said Aspet, “Now, hold still.”

He and Boogla carefully set the top of the shell back on as the poor RPC agent wondered what was going to happen to him. As Aspet worked to fasten the container back up, Boogla disappeared and came back lugging a box of something.

“I found this earlier and didn’t know what it was. Now I think it might be some form of power supply.” She set the metal-covered object down next to the sarcophagus and was gratified when two of the short cables coming out of the enclosure matched up perfectly with posts on the box.

Aspet looked in the viewport of the sarcophagus just above the agent’s face. “We’re just going to activate this for a second. Please give us a full account of what you experience.”

The agent nodded slightly; as much as he could in the close- fitting container. Aspet did one last check of the container seal and then signaled to Boogla. She flipped a single pole-double throw switch on the side of the box and instantly a blinding light appeared inside the sarcophagus, accompanied by a low- frequency crackling. It lasted perhaps three seconds and then died away.

They popped open the box. The RPC agent was lying there with wide eyes and a little drool coming from his mouth. They helped him out of the sarcophagus; Aspet motioned for the Royal Physician to come check him over. When he was declared to be in good health they sat him down with pad and pen and asked him to narrate his experience for them in as great a detail as he could muster. He did so in a shaky hand, without speaking.

When he finished his narrative, Aspet read over it. He opened his personal briefcase, pulled out a sheaf of pre-printed parchments with Royal Letterhead and a pen, and wrote something on one before stamping it with the Royal Sigil embedded in his ring. He handed the parchment to the RPC Captain, who nodded and took the agent aside. After a minute or so the agent grabbed his gear and wobbled off down the path.

Boogla cocked her head in curiosity. “What did you do?” she asked Aspet.

“I gave him two weeks of paid leave and a bonus for service above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Generous. Exactly what did he go through to deserve that?”

Aspet handed her the notepad. She read it with increasing excitement. “So, are we going to try it?”

“I’d love to, but the RPC would go ballistic. We need more controlled conditions”

“What we
need
is a mage.”

“I think I know where to find a suitable candidate.”

The next morning Ballop’ril and Prond appeared at the compound, answering a Royal summons. Aspet took Ballop’ril aside and talked to him for some time, then escorted him over to see the sarcophagus. The old archmage was visibly excited.

“If what the young agent wrote is accurate, this may be the missing link; the means by which the first mages were created. If so, it is an artifact of inestimable value.”

“That phrase pops up a lot in reference to this site. The Magineer Liaison and I were able to locate the original power supply and for some bizarre reason it still works after all this time.” Aspet said, “Here it is.” He led Ballop’ril over to the box, still hooked up to the sarcophagus.

Ballop’ril laid one hand on each side of the ancient iron container and closed his eyes. He opened them again abruptly with an almost audible snap.

“It is not a power supply,” he pronounced, “It is a conduit. A network connector, if you will, to The Slice. Anyone in that sarcophagus gets transported there; presumably for training purposes.”

“Visiting The Slice to get trained?” Boogla asked, “By whom?”

“The arcanelementals” said a voice down the path a bit. The RPC went on guard. It was Oloi, who had teleported some distance away to give the RPC less likelihood of a coronary. Aspet waved them off as he approached and they relaxed.

“I saw the RPC agent materialize briefly in The Slice and traced the activity to here. I’ve heard rumors and rumors of rumors about this device from time to time, but I was never certain how much credence to lend them.”

“How are the arcanelementals connected to this?” asked Ballop’ril.

“They are creations of The Slice itself: sent to worlds enveloped by the Dark Energetic Continuum to cultivate magic use and thereby assist in bleeding off excess energy in the form of ‘manna.’ The Continuum has many—perhaps millions or even billions—of gravitational sinks set into it that constantly suck in matter and convert it to back to energy, most of which ends up in the form we know as manna. In order to maintain stability, most of that energy must be bled off. It is likely that The Continuum represents the first sentience in the universe. It is certainly the largest, in any case. It apparently generates these beings that we call arcanelementals to infiltrate a non-magic-using world and correct that deficiency for its own purposes.”

“So, they come here and do what?” asked Aspet, “Build a sarcophagus to transport people to The Slice? How does that achieve their final goal?”

“I cannot answer that with certainty, but I would hazard a guess that once in The Slice each proto-mage was given some manner of magical reservoir—a speculum arcanis. On their return to N’plork they were able to use their new manna supply to perform magic, as taught to them by the arcanelementals.”

“So, they were jump started by the arcanelementals. That explains how they went from parasciencers to archmages in such a short time.”

“Yes. Creating a self-perpetuating cadre of magic-users on each inhabited planet in contact with the Continuum ensures a constant drain of energy from it and therefore its continued stability. This, I believe, is a primary self-preservation mechanism for The Slice.”

“So, in essence,” Ballop’ril added, “This is a transcendence- simulator suit.”

Oloi thought about it. “Yes, that’s exactly what it is, except the restrictions are reversed: you can only stay in The Slice for a short while before you revert.”

“Do we know how long, precisely?”

“I’d make a wild guess based on the energy signature I observed of about…half an hour.”

“So, they made multiple trips until they were up sufficiently educated?”

“Possibly. I think it more likely that each of them only made the trip once: that was enough to convince them that what they were dealing with—magic—was real and a force that could realistically be harnessed and controlled.”

“If you think about the state of civilization then,” said Boogla, “The Slice must have seemed even more exotic and miraculous than it does today. It’s no wonder they were profoundly affected by the sight of it.”

“This find should make Doctor Reoksa’s day, if not week,” Aspet mused.

“Perhaps even entire career, given the magnitude of these artifacts,” said Ballop’ril. “They solve a mystery that has been haunting us for thousands of years.”

“And that brings us neatly back to the question of who or what was haunting this area in the first place,” said Boogla.

“I thought we’d already established they were some form of magical beacons.”

“’Beacons’ that move objects around and fire nails across the room? I suppose that makes
him
a beacon, too.” She pointed at a glowing figure standing behind the RPC captain, who dove forward and came back up with his weapon drawn.

The figure—it looked like a malnourished goblin in a simple tunic and stitched shoes—regarded them mildly, ignoring the RPC’s threatening posture. Most of the audience were just stunned and unsure of what action to take, if any, but Ballop’ril and Oloi walked over to it in fascination.

“Do you see the aura?” asked Oloi.

“Yes. It’s quite strong. Some form of harmonic residual, perhaps.”

“Partially, but it has a multiplanar presence that is most unusual.”

“What is the geometry of the planar extrusions? Is it uniform or irregular?”

Oloi disappeared momentarily and then faded back into sight.

“The extrusion is minimal on all planes except this one and the hypertropic.”

“The hypertropic? What purpose would an extrusion there serve?” Ballop’ril asked, stroking his beard.

“I have a theory,” replied Oloi, “Let us test it. Give me a few seconds to situate myself in the hypertropic and then dispel the figure.”

“Is not that a bit harsh? It has taken no action against us.”

“I believe the effect will not be permanent.”

“So, you wish for me to cast only a prime plane dispel, then?”

“No. Full-spectrum polyplanar.” With that he dissolved once more.

Ballop’ril shrugged. “Sorry about this, whoever you are.” He put his hands in front of him, palms facing forward, and suddenly pulled them apart. A flash of deep blue radiance erupted from the spot where his hands had begun and enveloped the specter, which faded away into nothing.

Ballop’ril stood awaiting the return of Oloi when suddenly the spectral figure itself faded back in, as though it had simply experienced a momentary power outage. Oloi reappeared a few seconds later.

“It’s an anchor,” he explained, “Your dispel got looped around and fed back into the energy stream that reconstituted the apparition. It’s a permanent self-regenerating installation.”

“That makes no sense. It would take an incredible amount of energy to establish a hypertropic extrusion that was stable for this long. What possible reason could there be for someone to go through that simply to provide a location with a permanent spook? Especially one that doesn’t seem to speak or move much.”

“We haven’t hit the right trigger yet.”

“What are we supposed to do?” asked Boogla, “Jump up and down and stick out our tongues?”

“I do not know. Try it,” Oloi answered. “I’ll be back,” he added, fading from sight with a faint sparkle.

“That must be annoying,” Aspet observed.

“What, Your Majesty?” asked Boogla.

“Having to go home and recharge every so often.”

“We all do that in a manner of speaking,” replied Ballop’ril, “Just on a longer cycle and with somewhat more freedom of scheduling.”

Boogla walked over to the apparition and then straight through it.

“Did you feel anything?” asked Ballop’ril

“Just a slight tingle.”

“That’s the power flux. The thing is using a tremendous amount of energy.”

Aspet was looking at something directly in the line of sight of the specter.

“This looks like some faint symbol set into the floor.” He knelt down and wiped off the dust. As his hand moved across the apparition began to speak. Everyone stared in amazement.

“Ersryhestan me golspij’nemol is Qillopot selmone. Klasetgilomj’giloma. Lo kop re’sthklaju Ta’slizh’I,” it said, in a slow, measured, faintly metallic voice. They all scratched their heads as it droned on, repeating the announcement, or whatever it was, in an endless loop.

“My best guess would be some form of protogoblish,” said Ballop’ril, finally.

“Do we know anyone who understands protogoblish?” asked Aspet.

“Only a few academics. Come to think of it, one of them might be Dr. Reoksa.”

“Let’s see if we can get her over here.” He pointed at the RPC captain’s comm.

Half an hour later the good doctor came putting up in her little pram. Aspet explained the situation to her and led her over to the apparition, which she regarded with a mixture of scholarly curiosity and alarm. He stood on the trigger glyph and she listened intently as the specter spoke.

“It’s a dialect of protogoblish known as
Noorpridic
because it was first documented from a small island a few hundred kilometers off the coast of Esmia...” She tailed off.

“Well,” Aspet asked after a few seconds of silence,” What is he saying?”

Dr. Reoksa scratched her cheek. “He appears to be, um, barking.”