Gathering of the Titans: The Tol Chronicles Book 2 (20 page)

“My presumption was that you were suffering from some form of neuromotive palsy,” came the metallic reply, “Although your EEG readings were not abnormal. Allow me to rephrase that: not abnormal for
you
.”

“Har, har. Please tell me you’ve also been following the bizarre little saga unfolding here.”

“Yes. I see a spike in overall electromagnetic radiation concurrent with the manifestations of the shadow, but I cannot pinpoint the origin or even the precise nature of the field generated by that radiation. It is as though the source is extradimensional, which may well be the case—improbable though that sounds.”

“Extradimensional…you mean like from The Slice?” Tol asked.

“Not exactly. Dark energy such as that siphoned from The Slice has a characteristic signature. This signature is very unusual in that it shows no consistent pattern; or rather, the pattern is there, but parts of it seem to be located in an energetic continuum that does not register on my sensors.”

“So? Maybe you just haven’t got the right sensors?”

“Perhaps, but I am equipped with sensors for the full spectrum of known radiative emissions. That means this energy is of a type unknown to engineers.”

“Yeah? How can that be?”

“I have no answer for that question.”

“I never thought I’d hear those words coming from your little electronic mouth.”

“The number of questions to which I do not have the answer is infinite. My knowledge base only seems vast in comparison with your own.”

“If the obligatory derogation period has concluded, I’d like to return to the anomaly under discussion.”

“Your increased vocabulary is somewhat anomalous in itself and will, I might add, make the ‘derogation periods’ less frequent and of shorter duration. Returning per request to the discussion, the elf committed suicide based, apparently, on a belief that he was the victim of some form of malediction. If he experienced and misinterpreted the anomalous energy, and was predisposed to rash action based on some perceived prior intimidation, his reaction might be explicable on that basis.”

“I’m not comfortable with the reliance that explanation places on irrationality,” Tol replied, “Can we construct something a little more empirical?”

“I am deeply impressed. Perhaps I have misjudged you all these years.”

“Nah. I really have been trying to expand my vocabulary lately.”

“And you’ve made noticeable progress. As to the chain of events, it might be helpful if you carried me around while I scan for more encounters with the mystery energy. The more samples I have, the better a characterization I can develop.”

Tol clipped the pen to an outside pocket to avoid any shielding effect from the lined overjack and transected the carriage methodically. After one complete survey they had found nothing and were considering the possibility that whatever it was had returned to wherever it had come from when Tol suddenly felt something: an intensely malevolent presence.

“You see anything on the sensors?” he asked Petey.

“Yes. ‘Pegged the meter,’ as you might say. An energy signature I’ve never seen before that isn’t even possible with the limits of engineering as we know them. To put it into context, were it thermal energy this coach and in fact the entire carriage would be molten. The level is now approaching the full-spectrum radiative output of a small star. If some form of harmonic or feedback loop is established with ‘normal’ energy something dramatic and most likely catastrophic will occur.” Petey’s volume was increasing at the end to compensate for a rising thrum in the coach.

“What can we do to prevent that from taking place?” Tol yelled.

“Jump!”

“I meant, and survive the experience!”

“Oh. In that case I would suggest contacting your transcended mage friend. The energy signature here is closer to dark energy than anything else. He might recognize it.”

“Good idea,” Tol muttered while fumbling in his pocket for a talisman Oloi had given him. He squinted at the tiny lettering, which obligingly began to glow a bright golden as the talisman heated up in his palm. “Ulul...” he started, before remembering he was supposed to read right to left...” Veniteet ululaverunt!”

Nothing happened for a few moments, except that the oppressive feeling in the coach grew so incredibly intense that it seemed the walls themselves would surely give way. A golden swirling mist appeared and an odd bipedal creature with smooth light brownish-red hide and shocks of startling thin white fur on its head assembled itself therefrom.

“Nice to see you, Oloi,” said Tol, when enough of the apparition had materialized for him to be confident that hearing was possible.

“Yooouraaaang?” Oloi replied in an artificially deep voice.

“Yeah, I guess I did. Do you feel that?”

“What, precisely, am I expected to be feeling?”

“An incredible sense of evil, oppression, and foreboding.”

Oloi sniffed the air and waved his hand back and forth. “Smells like a Duellomortu.”

Tol glared at him. “Whatta ya mean ‘smells like?’ And what the smek is a dwellomor...whatever?”

“A Duellomortu is revenant who can only be killed in a duel. With a sword. A dueling sword, to be exact: rapier, colichemarde, or sabre, usually.”

“This sounds like a monster from some role playing game,” said Petey, drily.

“That’s precisely the origin of it, old boy. When you’re an archmage with a very high fever and a very potent Artifact of Instantiation within easy reach of your bedside, these sorts of things happen.”

“How do we make it go away?” screamed Tol over the almost intolerable din.

“Oh,” replied Oloi, “You really can’t, now. Not until you set a time and place for the duel. The best you can do is move to another coach. It won’t follow you.”

They all moved to the next coach in line and huddled in the first berth. “You mean that coach is now haunted?” asked Wijjy, who had joined them when they changed coaches.

“In a sense, yes. The Duellomortu will remain attached that physical location until someone completes the geas by challenging it to, and fighting, the proper form of duel.”

“What happens if you lose the duel?”

Oloi shrugged. “You die and take the Duellomortu’s place.”

“And if you win?”

“The Duellomortu dissipates.”

“How is any of this possible?” Tol asked.

The archmage crossed his legs. “Do know what a wheel boot is?”

“Yeah,” replied Tol, “It’s a locking collar we clamp on the wheel of prams or drays to keep them from moving until we’re ready for that to happen.”

“Precisely: a revenant is a malevolent spirit held in place by a magical ‘soul boot,’ not to be freed until a specific trigger releases it. In the case of a Duellomortu that trigger consists of being defeated in a sword battle using the rules of formal rapier combat.”

“You said ‘in the case of
a
Duellomortu.’ Does that mean there is more than one in existence?” asked Wijjy.

“Unfortunately, yes. An artifact is so-called because of its great power. An Artifact of Instantiation burns a permanent template into the interface between the prime and arcane realms that generates whatever was programmed into that template more or less forever. It dissipates eventually, but only after millions of years. As a result, Duellomortu will continue to appear throughout N’plork for quite a long time to come.”

“Well,” observed Tol after a few moments’ reflection, “I suppose it creates job security for the fencing masters.”

“Quite so,” answered Oloi. “Is this why you called me here?”

“No,” Tol replied, “Actually, it isn’t.” He recounted the story of the elf’s last moments and suicide. “We were trying to understand the rapidly building negative energy field, as well as how the elf could have leapt to his death without any apparent injuries.”

Oloi smiled grimly. “You’ll find the injuries are all internal. While he did leap off, he was no longer moving relative to the ground when he came to rest.”

“How do you figure that?”

“One thing I forgot to tell you about Duellomortu: they aren’t very patient. If you refuse to engage one in actual rapier combat, it may very well attack you with ‘spirit swords’ that do the same damage internally as a real sword, but do not leave any external wounds. When a person dies that way he passes through a transition stage during which his body is impervious to external forces while the spirit is being harvested extradimensionally. That’s not entirely accurate: in fact, the body itself is temporarily located in another dimension. Apparently this poor fellow died just before or as he left the train and had already stopped rolling on the ground when he returned fully to the native state.
Et voila
: deceased elf with no apparent injuries.”

Oloi had to return to The Slice a few minutes later. Tol sat and began to write out his report. When there was a stiff involved the paperwork got much more arduous. As he wrote the conductor sat across from Tol, waiting for him to finish. Finally Tol decided to take a ‘rest his writing arm’ break.

“What can I do for you, Wijjy?”

“I have some rather disappointing news. The ‘haunted’ coach is one of the very few in our fleet with the engine coupling installed. In other words, it’s the one car we really can’t do without on the Limited carriage. Without it, there’s no way to attach the engines to the other coaches.

“So, I guess you’d better find a fencing master or get to training pretty hard. That’s the only way I know of to get that coach back into operation, unless you want to sell tickets to the ‘haunted carriage’ or something.”

“While that is a tempting proposition, I don’t believe upper management would go for it. The insurance premiums would be prohibitive. What they
would
go for, however—and I know this because I have a message from them right here—is hiring you to take care of the problem for us.”

Tol’s incredulous expression morphed after a moment into a broad grin, accompanied by a hearty chuckle. “You’ve been setting me up for that punchline the entire time, haven’t you?”

The conductor looked puzzled. “I assure you this offer is quite legitimate.”

Tol’s expression toned down. “I’m a special investigator for His Majesty’s Edict Enforcement Bureau. I can’t accept commissions of that sort. Nor can I engage in combat with a specter or anything else except in the course of apprehending a suspect or preventing a violent illegal act.”

“Were not asking you to engage in combat personally, or at all if you can figure out some other approach. We’re merely hiring you make this problem go away and give us back the use of our coach.”

Tol cocked his head, turned away, and closed one eye. He was figurin.’ At last he turned to face Wijjy again. “All right: it’s a deal. I’ll find someone to fight the Duello-thing and turn all of that money over to them.”

“Are you sure you can’t keep any of it?”

“Only up to twenty billmes from any given entity, as a gift in appreciation of service.”

“Is that twenty per day, or just twenty, period?”

“I don’t know. It’s never come up before. Check with the EEB Ethics Office. They play craps back in the alley behind HQ on Midweeksday; otherwise they’re pretty easy to get hold of.”

“Thank you, Sir Tol-u-ol. This carriage is the lifeline for many people living along the tracks. Your assistance will be essential in maintaining service to those people, as well as providing transportation for many business travelers and thousands of tonnes of goods every month.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve read your brochure. I’ll kill the monster for you. It may take some time, though.”

“Understood; please proceed as rapidly as possible, however.”

“The sooner you get me to Goblinopolis, the sooner I’ll get started.”

“Your express carriage will be pulling up in about ten minutes.”

“There’s no siding here; how are you going to turn the carriage around?”

“There’s an engine on both ends of most of our carriages. They can provide propulsion in synch with one another in either the forward or reverse direction of travel. When your carriage gets here the engineer will simply switch ends.”

“Clever. Makes sense, now that I think about it.”

“We’re going to cancel all Track Warrants between here and Goblinopolis. That means any carriages on that route will have to pull into the next siding and wait for you to go by. That ensures that you will get to Goblinopolis in the shortest possible time, with no detours or stops necessary.”

“I can see you are very serious about this mission. I will do my best to help you.”

“That’s all we can ask, Sir Tol-u-ol. May Providence be with you.”

in which Tol encounters and hires an awe-inspiring bladesmistress

“Rack your weapon and go to your corner, Verax. Meditate on patience and on learning from the lesson you received today.” Jadean stood with hands on hips: her ‘don’t argue with me’ posture. Verax, her advanced student and potential cadet, was shaking with anger and frustration.

“I have practiced that attack over and over and over. I set it up right; why was it so easy for you to parry?” He was no longer shouting, but still obviously struggling to maintain self-control.

“The Attaque au Fer was effective; the initial balestra was well-timed, but your riposte following my parry was poorly executed because once again, you forgot about your footwork. You were not in an advantageous position for the reprise because I side-stepped. You should have rotated on the ball of your foot and reset for the patinando, which would have been quite effective had you been in the proper position. As executed, however, passé was inevitable and your forward recovery was inept. I could have driven my sword completely through your neck or shoulder with ease.”

“What am I doing that is so wrong, Randora?” Verax was calming down now, but still shaking.

“Your footwork,” she explained, “Is fine when you first attack, but once you get involved in the fight and shift focus to your blade you forget about it and begin to stumble around like a novice. You must practice footwork until it becomes second nature at all times. I want you to be awoken from a deep sleep and leap out of bed en garde and in perfect balance. Until then you will be defeatable simply by staying in tight defense until you’ve engaged two or three times. You are especially prone to failure during an opposition parry after multiple exchanges. The longer our blades are in contact, the worse your footing becomes. Now, go and meditate.”