Vincalis the Agitator (68 page)

The well-known and once-beloved face of Gellas Tomersin filled the display. “Solander gave us the magic to end the evils of
the Dragons, and the god Vodor Imrish has given us the power to do in one night what would have taken mortals with only magic
to aid them days or weeks. But Vincalis the Agitator gave us the words by which we have gone forth to destroy that evil which
has rotted the heart of the empire. Vincalis said:

Each of us is in part a god. We are each Masters of our souls. Others hold rights to the flesh of our bodies, others claim
the effort of our backs, others own the fruits of our labors—but each man’s soul is his birthright, his stake in immortality,
his foothold to imminent godhood.

Yet the Dragons above you claim flesh, bone, blood, will, and thought from men, women, children, babes in arms. And beyond,
they claim their souls. They claim them, they burn them, they destroy that which they can never own—for convenience, for art,
for their own power.

No more.

“There is no easy path to honor,” Gellas Tomersin—Wraith the Warrener—said, and tears glistened like diamonds on his cheeks.
“There is no soft path to freedom, no good road to what is right. No painless way to truth. What we have done will hurt innocent
people even as it frees innocent people. The Dragons cannot continue burning the souls of the Warreners to give you flying
cities, cities beneath the seas, aircars, star-yards. They have gone beyond the right of a government, have claimed more than
they can own. We each have inalienable rights—the right to our own thoughts, the right to our own bodies, the right to our
own souls. The Empire has claimed these rights as its own, has stolen them from its most helpless citizens. But we have taken
the souls of the Warreners away from the Empire tonight—and, in the weeks of the next month, will take away all flesh and
bone, all blood and will. By the end of this month, if the Dragons do not use new sources of power, all magic in the Empire
of the Hars Ticlarim will die. The cities of the air will topple to the ground—even now, they are sinking lower. The cities
beneath the sea will flood or be crushed—even now, pressure on them begins to increase. Aircars will not fly, ships on the
sea will have to navigate by the stars and sail by the wind, for their engines will fall silent.”

He bowed his head for a moment, and a small sob escaped him. Then, straightening his shoulders, taking a deep breath, he lifted
his head and said, “We have made the end of magic gradual to give each of you time to evacuate. If you live beneath the sea,
leave. If you live in the air, leave. If you live in a city beneath a city built on air, leave. You will need food, you will
need clothing against weather that, without magic to temper it, may become harsh. You will need a way to protect yourself
and your family—you should band together with people you trust for your own safety.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded like he actually meant it. “If we had been able to find any other way, we would have
taken it.”

The Landimyn of the Hars crooked his index finger, and his servant switched the display unit off. “If you didn’t see it live,
now you’ve seen it.” He leaned back and stared at them. “I want this fixed. I want it fixed now. I will not have this Empire
destroyed by these fanatics. These lunatics. This will not happen on my watch. Tell me—how are we going to render these criminals
and their spells impotent?”

The Master of Research, Zider Rost, tapped the table in front of her to signal that she had something to say. The Landimyn
acknowledged her with a nod.

Zider rose and said, “Within five minutes of leaving here, I can launch the first twenty spell-birds that will turn the Warrens
and everything in them into a liquid fuel that we will be able to use to power this Empire for the next generation. Within
a day, if I push my people, we can have the hundred-plus others ready to go. We may have to cut corners to get them out the
door in time, but any corners we cut won’t be in effectiveness. I recommend, however, that we do this immediately, because
the longer we tarry, the less power we’ll have to deliver them to their targets.”

The Landimyn looked pleased but startled. “I’ve heard nothing of this plan.”

“I’m sure it was working its way up through your underlings to you—I sent you the complete information on it the day the Council
voted to develop this weapons system.”

The Landimyn nodded. “It’s safe?”

“Not for the Warreners.” Zider Rost grinned around the room at the other councilors, and a few managed appreciative if strained
chuckles.

“It will eliminate the spell these … monsters … have cast?”

“It is the most powerful spell-set that has ever been developed by the use of Dragon magic. We have had to create an entire
new system for
rewhah
-handling just to accommodate the power that this spell will generate. I promise you on my life and soul, there is nothing
those petty bastards can have thrown around the Warrens, in the space of the few minutes they would have had to cast before
our people spotted them, that will stand against what we have created.” She waved her right hand over the band she wore on
her left wrist, and in the air above it, the face of a young man appeared. “You have the information for me, Rohn?”

“I do.” The young man smiled. “I can find no evidence of an actual shield around any of the Warrens, other than ours. And
all of ours are still intact. We do show minimal energy loss, but we suspect some sort of leaching device implanted to make
us think that these people have done what they said. Our teams have been able to enter test Warrens across the Empire without
difficulty, and report no changes in the behavior of any of the units.”

“They were lying?” The Landimyn looked relieved.

“Perhaps.” Zider Rost held up a hand. “They use a system of magic foreign to us, and it is possible that they are telling
the truth, but that we won’t see the effects of what they’ve done for several days. I strongly, strongly recommend that we
not give them the chance to bring the Empire to its knees. I advise we strike now, while we know we can end this.”

Around the Council table, silence. Doubt on the faces of the Masters who had not had the chance to inspect the spell-set.
Concern over taking such a drastic, irreversible step.

And then Grath Faregan rose.

“Two points,” he said. “First, you cannot show weakness in the face of the threats of rebels. Doing so only encourages more
rebellion. If the bastards have done what they say they have done, and if you don’t act, the Empire and all that is good within
it will die by your hand, and yours will be the names reviled in history for all time. And if they have not done what they
claim, and you don’t act, every Empire-hating lunatic from here to Strithia will swarm the Hars, and the Empire will die anyway.

“Second …” He paused and smiled. “Second, I’ve located the rebels’ hiding place. By the time you’ve turned the Warrens into
liquid, they should be back to their base. And when they return, you can drop a spell-bird on them.”

The table erupted with demands that Faregan divulge the location, but he just shook his head. “First things first. Save the
Empire’s energy. Then we’ll go after the rebels. I want to be on hand personally to watch their destruction.”

The Masters looked at each other, and then, one by one, said, “Second …” “Second.” “I second as well.” “Second.” No one abstained,
no one disagreed.

The Landimyn looked from one councilor to the next. “These spell-birds have been checked by others at this table? You are
all satisfied that they will do what they are supposed to do, that they will do it correctly?”

The Master of Energy said, “I vetted them myself. They’ll work. They aren’t pretty, but they’ll work.”

The Landimyn sat still, eyes closed, for just a moment. Then he nodded. “Master of Research. Go immediately. Launch every
spell-bird that you have ready. Have your people prepare the rest to launch at the soonest available moment. Do what you have
to do to make this happen.”

Zider Rost, Master of Research, smiled coldly. She rose, bowed to the Landimyn and to his colleagues. And then she left the
room at a run.

“We have to get back in the aircars now,” Wraith said when he’d finished the transmission.

“Obviously we need to get out of here,” Patr agreed.

“No. Not just out of here. We need to run. And we need to take the men here with us.”

Patr blanched, but then smiled slightly. “You’re talking about taking hostages? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Not going to be hostages. Going to be survivors. Something is wrong.” Wraith pointed to the transmission operators and shouted,
“Take them with us. Run! Back to the aircars!” Then he grabbed Jess and, with his hand clamped around her wrist, bolted for
the exit. Behind him, he could hear the four employees protesting. But he heard the pounding of many feet behind him, too—and
as he alone spoke for Vincalis, damnable Vincalis, they’d do what he told them. He didn’t need to look back.

He jumped into the first aircar and dragged Jess in behind him; she smacked a shin going over a door he could have opened
had he taken more time, and yelled, and he could feel her glaring at him. Patr, whom Wraith had heard running and swearing
right behind him and Jess, had one of the employees in tow—and that man was in a frothing rage. Patr shoved the transmission
operator into the aircar and jumped in with him, and instantly the vehicle lifted off the ground.

Patr was panting. “What’s going on?”

“Something terrible. I’d no more than finished the transmission when I got the image of disaster. The collapse of the city,
I think.”

The employee glowered at the three of them and said, “You’re
causing
the collapse of the city, you cretin—you amoral son-of-shit-weasels. You’re going to murder the city in a month, and now
you’re having second thoughts.”

“Not in a month,” Wraith said. He stared down at the other aircars. The lights on the landing pad of the transmission building
lit them well enough that he could make out what was going on. The aircars were filling and soaring into the air as fast as
the one he was in. The sense of urgency, of terrible, oppressive, impending nightmare clogged the air.

Why? What would happen? He’d told the people of the Empire what they needed to know. Hadn’t he? What more was there?

But the god Vodor Imrish was pulling them out faster than anything Wraith had ever seen—and the panic almost felt to him like
it emanated from the god. But why would a god panic?

He watched the last of the aircars lift off of the landing pad. And then, from last to first, they began winking out like
stars, simply vanishing from the sky. His mind had only an instant to register what it had seen, and then the colder-than-death
cobwebs that moved him from his world into the darkness beyond brushed his face and his skin, and all of life and light fell
away. He hung in the darkness, wondering what was at that moment befalling his world, his home, and the people he had left
behind.

Luercas and Dafril made it out of their aircar and into the temple first, their frantic charge scattered the priests and set
all within the temple into panic. But not so much as their instructions to the priests, given as the rest of the Dragon plotters
began to arrive.