TEN
As Daedalus approached, the huge wings flapped and the bird lifted off its perch with a whooshing sound. A few centimeters only, for the thick chain tied securely to its foot prevented its soar to freedom.
“Come…come, my beauty.” He reached forward and the beak ripped out. Had not a thick glove encased his hand, the razor tip would easily have severed his finger. He could have replaced it, of course. His genetic design allowed for such things, yet the simple precaution was tidier…and much less painful.
“Ah…you are hungry?” He brought up his hidden left hand. It held a fresh morsel of meat still dripping blood. The raven screamed as he teased it, and the yellow eyes regarded him with rage. Finally, he relented. He stood there, gazing fondly as it devoured the offering.
Daedalus loved the bird, as he did all his creations. He did not think of himself as a scientist, and certainly not an engineer—a word he detested. He was an artist. He created not with a brush, nor did he sculpt with his hands. He used thought, weaving the imaginative forms of his dreams into concrete shapes, which could then be brought forth into reality. This was his secret and the base of his power. This impetus alone had kept him involved in the re-seeding of the planet Archduke Owen had envisioned. From the first moment he had stepped from Cloister, Owen had begun the program. His son, Victor, had then guided it to fruition.
Daedalus removed his gloves, flipping them onto a counter. He moved past the long row of specimens, each neatly labeled and tucked into its private niche. They were of various sizes and in diverse stages of development. Some of them required specialized environments with constant monitoring by the cortal scanners. He had privately nicknamed these his computeks. They were little more than brain-linked mechanized tools, but they could ‘think’ with the absolute minimum of programming. These he left under the direction of his apprentices. He had much more important tasks to deal with.
He paused, taking the time to study a few of his creations. He had come a long way since the old days of the early ILF design. It was a strange thing how time mellowed one’s attitudes. How he had hated and despised the sanctimonious Norn, even though he had been forced to concede on every issue. He had needed the man’s influence as much as his genius. There had been unfilled gaps in his own research, and time had been an important factor. No matter. Time made no difference now, and those happenings were so long ago they were almost beyond the limit of his memory. Still, he often wondered what development that road had taken under Norn´s so-called ‘purer motivation’. Had any of them even survived?
He moved on again. The mere sight of some of his experiments would have nauseated the most hardened of stomachs, yet such discovery was an unlikely occurrence. The domain of the Genetic Engineers was sacrosanct, kept from violation not only by the force field and the great metal doors, but also by the watchful eyes of the guardian Adepts.
The only visitor in recent memory had been Victor Mondragon. He had descended into the labyrinth many cycles ago, only to leave just as quickly. He had never returned. In truth, Daedalus and his two associates, along with their apprentices, were little more than prisoners themselves. There were only nine who knew and understood the hidden mysteries, for the secret they possessed was the most prized possession of the Pentarchy: the Serum. And of course, its accidental and fractured gift—the Zurd.
He frowned as he caught sight of an ancient chronometer. It had grown late and the hour of meeting was at hand. To be tardy on this occasion was out of the question.
He vacated the area of the specimens-proper, moving through the gene banks and into the library. This was the largest area, containing vast volumes copied from the scrolls. Herein lay the details of every living creature in the Pentarchy—many of them long since extinct. From these descriptions and the gene banks, he had grown the raven…and other things.
He smiled, pressing the hailer on his belt. It would summon his apprentices from whatever secluded place they happened to be. He had gauged the time to coincide with the sleep patterns of his two fellow engineers and their apprentices. This also meant that their guardians would be absent.
His footsteps quickened. The Serum-vault was centrally located in the area relegated to the Genetic Engineers, built into the solid stone of the castle's foundation. As always, the tomblike interior was blessedly cool. He took his key-wand to open the repository housing the current batch of the Serum—and the formula. There were only three other keys in existence: one for each of his associates, and a third in a secret cache known only to the archduke and Kronus.
His two apprentices arrived, and he gave them the pre-measured vial. It was for a planet under the Grimman-Seth dominion, and its delivery was now of the utmost urgency. The urgency had been one of his making. He had deliberately held back delivery for a moon, waiting for the moment most opportune to his needs.
The two apprentices asked no questions. They were well trained.
They reached the portal. There was only one, serving as both entry and exit. It did not look imposing, yet the metal was impervious to all but the most powerful of disruptor beams. Or the sword of an Adept. The entire labyrinth was thus sheathed.
The lights of the magna-locks glowed redly. Beyond was the force field…and the Adept. He keyed open the audile port and spoke clearly but in a normal voice. “This is Daedalus. I require exit.”
The huge door opened without sound. Through the field, he saw the distorted form of the Adept wielding his key-wand. The image focused as the power shut off.
“You work late this night.”
It was a long speech for this Adept. His name was Renar, and Daedalus had long dreamt of dissecting his brain while he was still alive.
“I was delayed by council,” he replied, “and there is much yet to be done. You must accompany these two. I will remain here until your return.”
“Unusual.”
Daedalus had expected obstacles. “Do you wish to summon the Lord Marshal?”
“That is unnecessary, yet it is doubtful I shall return this night.”
“That is of small concern to me,” Daedalus replied. He knew the Adept despised him, and he had long since given up disguising his feelings. “As you are well aware, my quarters are stocked and sufficient to all of my needs.”
Renar nodded and Daedalus knew the matter was resolved.
“These two will explain what must be done.” Daedalus turned abruptly and re-entered the labyrinth. He made it seem as though he hurried away. He did not hear the door close behind him, though he knew it with certainty. He stopped and waited several moments to be sure before he returned. It was a useless precaution fed by nervousness. From without, his movements could neither be seen nor heard.
Satisfied, he moved to the adjoining hall and went to the furthest corner. Directly above him lay the apartments of the baroness. Not even his fertile imagination could conjure up what experiments she was performing.
There was a door against the wall. Only he possessed the key. His associates had similar abodes meant only for their private use. The lights inside were dimmed for they followed the natural planetary pattern. It was an oval-shaped room with a single occupant: a male perched on a thick pole stretching out horizontally. It had been raised a half meter above the floor and made an adequate roost. Like the raven, he was chained…but there the similarity ended.
He was Grimman-Seth—though there were a few changes, all of them agreeable to the discerning eye. From the moment of his in-vitro inception, he had grown inside the lab and was now nearing maturity. For the Grimman-Seth, this was approximately twenty cycles, more or less the same time frame as those of Earth. Their lifespan, however, was double that of a normal human. Though Daedalus had long since developed a serum compatible to their gene pattern, and those of the Rudd as well, the archduke had forbidden its acknowledgement. Since this edict was enforced on pain of death, and the ruler showed no sign of altering his decision, Daedalus took great pains to keep this particular experiment secret.
The male was exactly 2.27 meters in height, slightly more than the average for their race. His skeletal structure was broader and thicker boned, allowing for added fleshiness. The massive lattisimus dorsai began at the lean waist and spread out in an elegant curve to his shoulders. The muscle mass was far greater than normal, though much more aesthetic to the human eye. The rising ridges of the bifurcated skull had been shortened and flattened. His skin coloring too had been altered to fit the normal human mold.
The facial appearance still bore the avian character yet with subtler delineation. The eyes were wider and more oval, and the beak—although still fierce—was narrower and less pronounced. This allowed room for a wider mouth containing developed speech organs, also molded along the human pattern. Yet the most significant and important change had been the wings. The stunted bones at the base of the shoulders were now elongated, and they curved into the back like a giant cape. In the creature’s present state of repose, the miraculous sight of their true beauty remained hidden.
“Good evening, Prospero.” Daedalus offered his greeting in a mocking voice. He was careful not to step within the marked area defining the creature’s allowable movement. The youth ignored him. Daedalus had chosen the name reflecting good luck purely as a joke. As the young male matured and the base of his knowledge widened, he had come to understand and hate the teasing way of Daedalus. He no longer answered to any other name than the one he had chosen himself.
“Very well…Rune.” Daedalus pulled the miniature holo-gun from his robe and his voice took on an edge. “Spread your wings.”
“No.” Rune’s speech was remarkably clear and precise, yet the answer he gave was not at all to Daedalus’ liking.
“Do as I tell you or there will be no food this night.” His threat did not appear to have any effect. “Very well. There will be no holos for the remainder of this moon.” He made as if to turn away but the creature spoke again.
“Wait!”
Daedalus turned and smiled in triumph as Rune rose to his full height and spread his wings. He had given the Grimman-Seth male access to every modern contrivance—within reason. This had not been due to any weakness such as generosity. Not in the least. He had discovered long ago that his creatures’ emotional and intellectual development must closely follow the physical to achieve results. Even more important, it helped to avoid imperfections: what he termed the stunting. Rune was now fully dependent upon such pleasures. He understood at a subconscious level that they were awarded only for good behavior.
Daedalus never tired of seeing the glory of the wingspread. It was the High Halcyon pattern, which he had modeled after the Monarch butterfly: darkened orange with traces of scarlet and gold, bordered by jet-black. It was magnificent.
In his rising excitement as he viewed through the tiny lens of the holo-gun, Daedalus did not realize his left foot had strayed over the boundary.
The reaction was lightning swift. Rune launched himself straight at the surprised engineer and the long length of his wing struck out with the power of a club. At the same instant, the heavy chain came up short and Rune was yanked back with a resounding snap, which brought him crashing to the floor.
Daedalus had pulled back in reflex, yet the wing tip brushed his face with enough speed and force to stun. He fell back onto his lean buttocks and remained shaking his head groggily for a few moments. There was now a shallow cut on his face and the blood dripped down to stain his robe.
The holo-gun had slipped from his grasp and he reached down to pick it up. The rugged little instrument of the Techniks was undamaged. He rose unsteadily to his feet and saw the Grimman-Seth eyeing him with hate-filled eyes, already resituated on his perch. From the neighboring room came the high, guttural shrieking of another of the birdkind. This specimen—a female—had been grown with normal attributes as a blind in order to better gauge the results of his genetic alterations. It reminded him that he must dispose of the creature soon.
“You will pay for that indiscretion,” Daedalus promised, wiping the blood from his cheek.
“One turn, I am going to kill you,” Rune hissed. “And I think it will be soon.” His voice was thickened by pain and rage.
Daedalus had regained his composure. He chuckled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “My dearest Prospero, is that any way to speak to one who has been like a father to you for so many cycles?” He shook the holo-gun. “Good news, Prospero. Tonight I shall trade you to your kind for something of enormous value. Something I require.”
“As ever, when you flap your cursed tongue, it is to utter lies.”
“No, no…you misunderstand. I don’t mean your physical body. At least, not yet…merely its promise. But later, if all goes well…”
Rune had folded his wings. His eyes were all but closed. He remained silent.
“Your people are here…close by. I will meet with them tonight.”
This brought a reaction, even though slight. Rune once more opened his eyes.
“Yes,” Daedalus smiled, waving the holo-gun as a taunt. “You will make a guest appearance.”
“A curse upon you and all your kind!” Rune growled.
“My dear Prospero, you are losing your perspective.” Daedalus' voice chilled. “For daring to strike me, you shall be denied the company of the female for…” He paused and appeared to deliberate. “…Let me think about it.”
He closed and re-sealed the door. The violent hissing abruptly ceased.
He walked back along the way he had come until he stood once more in front of the lighted barrier of the exit portal. He was now embarking upon the path of greatest danger. Once he began, he could not turn back. If he was observed skulking the corridors of the palace, it could mean his life. He had the means to bargain, but—like the glove—it would be much tidier if he were not caught.
He reached into the folds of his robe and took out the vial of stims. The hours of the night would be long, and he must not only endure but remain alert. He swallowed two of the tiny capsules: one to increase his muscular strength and the other to stimulate his cerebral cortex. The side effects would be unpleasant, though not felt for a full turn.
He moved against the farther wall and bent low, crawling under the long table. His hand passed over the surface of the tiles until a small indentation told him he’d found the right one. Using a tapered bar, he carefully pried it loose. He quickly lifted the wand underneath.
Like the one possessed by the Adept, it was keyed to the portal and the force field. He had bargained for it long and arduously, employing every skill he had learned over the centuries. He had erased his tracks afterward. The poor technik who had allowed his greed and lust to overcome his good sense was now part of the void. He had been tortured first, and at great length, to make sure he had revealed the secret to no one.
Such a thing could not have happened as little as two hundred cycles before. And yet, Daedalus had become aware of a great change filtering through the empire. Insidiously, it crept forward, suborning the staunchest loyalties, perverting even the much-vaunted code of honor. He was not sure exactly when he had been infected since time diluted the memory. Nor did it bother him overmuch. He had long ago forgotten whatever allegiance had once directed his movements. He was now swallowed wholly by the perverse pleasures of his craft.
And rewarding pleasures they were. Money was nothing. Sensory gratification was less than nothing. Knowledge and the ability to act on it—these were the true rewards, the true power. He had learned secrets, many he had never disclosed to anyone. Not even to his brother engineers.
The rigan’s illness for example: he had the means to eradicate it from the blood. Yet he waited, hoping to use the knowledge as a bargaining tool. And if the fool died, so what? He had other things to tempt the souls of the highest. He now possessed a method of Zurd gene alteration, which would allow short-range intragravity matter transmission. This secret—or some of its key facets—he had stolen from his most gifted pupil, one whose abilities had matched or even overshadowed his. Mad Galen: he had been so unbalanced in his ways, yet so brilliant. He was long gone now for Daedalus could not allow him to live. Such a pity. Even greater wonders had not survived his death. The greatest among them had been the missing link of the Swordkind….
No, he could not think of such tantalizing things now. Better to keep his mind upon the task at hand.
He left the tile loose since he must replace it before dawn. In the intensity of the moment, his imagination made him think he heard a sound. His abrupt reaction caused his head to bang on the tabletop. He forced himself to swallow his curses as he dragged himself from underneath. He opened a nearby locker where he had placed clothing earlier. It was dark and loose fitting, aiding concealment and allowing more freedom of movement than his cumbersome robe.
He changed as fast as his shaking hands would permit and moved to the portal. He stiffened his resolve and keyed open the locks. Through the distortion of the force field, the corridor looked deserted. He opened it with a swipe and moved out into the hall. He tensed, ready to dash in again at the slightest provocation.
There was no sound but the harsh suck and blow of his breath. He closed the portal and re-keyed the force field. He moved quietly yet with good speed. His footfalls were little more than whispers. Ever upward he went until he came to the juncture of the east and west wings, wherein lay the apartments of the baroness.
He suddenly heard the sound of muffled laughter, and it was getting louder. Women’s laughter. Nearby was a curtained alcove and behind it an opened window leading onto a narrow balcony. He slipped in behind the curtain but there was not enough time to slide through the window.
He rested there, his buttocks pressed against the sill, his feet lifted above the floor.
He sweated.
The curtain was parted a crack. Too late to close it now.
His mental acuity sped to a blur as the effects of the drug kicked in. The increased demand on his adrenal gland made the effort to remain motionless an agony. Like a flickering shadow, the curtain shifted and he saw the baroness. With her was a smaller figure…also a woman. They remained close and clinging, almost naked. Had they come from the garden?
Both moved forward with uncertain steps. He smelled it then, the scent cloying and unmistakable. The Tincture. Even in his heightened state, he felt revulsion. His desires lay not in that realm. He wondered if she knew the horrifying physical and mental degradation following prolonged use of the drug. The Grimman-Seth vendor would hardly enlighten her.
The sounds of movement ceased. He heard the baroness’ voice only a few paces away, thick with lust yet controlled.
“Come, Zoria. We have almost reached my chambers. It is time to taste the moment of first pleasure.”
There was another shifting of the curtain as some fluke movement of air caused it to flutter. The girl, Zoria, appeared dazed but moaned softly as the baroness slipped her hand down to her secret place.
And then they moved into the room and out of sight. When he heard the soft click of the door lock, he turned to the window but froze. He had almost forgotten Aidan, the Guardian Adept. Daedalus heard the rapid steps beating past his position and could not believe the man’s heightened senses had not detected him. He guessed why and almost cried out his good fortune. The aroma of the Tincture would be anathema to the Swordkind, and his haste to avoid it would have blinded his other sense.
He remained in position for a few more agonizing minutes until he was sure he was alone, then he climbed through the window and out onto the balcony. From there to the garden floor was ten meters, a long fall. Yet his passage was assured through use of the intertwining vines lacing the wall, many of them thicker than a man’s wrist.
He moved down, dropping his weight easily hand over hand until he reached the ground. He almost screamed when he felt a rough and powerful grip on his shoulder.
“You took overlong, Fleshdabbler.”
Panting to regain his breath, Daedalus recognized the tall form of Vull. There was an unknown Grimman-Seth accompanying him. He almost choked with the effort to control his fear but managed a brief reply. “I…I had to be careful. If we are discovered…”
“What news?” Vull demanded, cutting him off. “Do you have it?”
“Not here,” Daedalus answered, scuttling into the shadows of the nearby trees. They stopped under one that smelled of hyacinth. He did not need to see the shade of the blossoms to know their color. After all, he had grown them.
“Easy,” he warned as he pulled the tiny holo-gun from his pocket and Vull made to grab it. “Let me show you.” He adjusted the unit to send. As he did so, he erased the unwanted portion showing the attack on his person.
The image jumped out at them, a miniature version of high definition. There was an audible intake of breath as the two Grimman-Seth spied Rune’s majestic wingspread.
“Extraordinary, isn’t he?” Daedalus made no effort to disguise his gloating. The holo lost focus as it came to the portion he had erased. “You’ve seen enough to know what I intended, and what I have achieved. I am now able to implant code material into a fertilized egg. It will mature exactly as he is.”
“And what of already matured males?” Vull’s companion asked. His growler had a strange intonation and Daedalus suspected he was a technik. “Have you discovered a means of transference…one that will not deteriorate?”
This was dangerous ground. The secret of re-arranging mature cell structure had so far eluded him. Yet he was agonizingly close, and sure enough of his eventual success to be convincing in the lie. “Yes. But first you must fulfill your part of the bargain.” He replayed the scene once again. It was more important to secure the acceptance of Vull than this suspicious technik. The first talon watched with interest bordering on lust.
“We require this code material,” the Grimman-Seth technik insisted.
Daedalus shook his head. “Not until I get what I need.”
“Explain,” the technik snapped, and his cloak swirled about his tall frame.
Daedalus saw the brief glint of a disruptor but was not worried. They could do nothing here...or anywhere else. They would not risk forever losing the return of their most glorious memory: the thrill of flight. “The blood of the stranger, Talisman. I require enough to conduct my experiments. At least a pint; more if possible.”
“May as well ask for the blood of the beadsman,” Vull spat as the holo concluded once more. “We can do nothing on the Sacred Isle. Even the archduke, who is not overly fond of the beadsman, would not countenance such an action so near the Korda. He loves the cursed Swordkind as he loves nothing else.”
“They will not remain there forever,” Daedalus replied with certainty. “Bide your time. When you see an opportunity, strike. Just be sure your aim is true.”
“Kill him?”
Daedalus shrugged. “It is not necessary, but it is of no import as long as you get what I want.”
“The broodmaster grows tired of these delays.” Vull’s original excitement had cooled. His voice now held a note of warning. “He has sworn he will taste the wind before he joins the ancestors, or your blood will flow.”
“Patience,” Daedalus cautioned. “It will not be long now.”
“We will show him the holo. Perhaps that may temper his wrath.”
Daedalus hesitated only briefly. It would do no harm. It might even increase their resolve. He handed it to Vull. “If necessary, we shall communicate in the usual way.”
There was no response. The two Grimman-Seth had turned away and were already fading into the blackness.
Daedalus began the long climb to the balcony and contemplated his return to the silence of the labyrinth. He was so intent on his efforts he didn’t notice the eyes watching from the shadows below.
***
Moving as one, the three black-garbed men blended with the night. The lush grass of the garden muted their footfalls. They were the D’ia Mor Trine of Enn: Enn-Koh, Enn-Rook, and Enn-Hod. Though they possessed the ability of speech, they seldom communicated in this primitive manner. They preferred the more concise form of thought transfer. This connection was constant, so that each knew the other’s slightest wish. They were the Three-who-were-yet-one: a Trine. So it had been from their birth-link when they had become an integral part of the Horde.
‘There is movement above.’
They paused, hands resting naturally on their swords as they watched. Their night vision was keener than an owl’s—only one of many such differences separating them from their human counterparts. They saw the man climbing the wall, his clinging movements making him appear as though he were a bug. They knew him well. As they now watched with their eyes, they had long since watched with their minds. Moments later, he disappeared through the vaulted arch of the window high above.
The Trine lowered their gaze, senses searching outward. They made contact: a high-pitched keening well beyond the limits of human voice and hearing. They followed it for a hundred paces before they connected with the mind presence of their kindred: a solitary figure standing before them, faceless in shadow. His mind fused with theirs and they experienced a strange mixture of fear and awe. The Nonce: the One-who-was-yet-three. Their overlord. It was he who was now the living embodiment of the Lightless One.
‘You saw the fleshdabbler?’
They shuddered at the touch of power, the delicate hint of shadow that was somehow massive beyond comprehension.
‘Yes.’
‘He met with Vull of the Grimman-Seth?’
‘Yes…to our cause.’
‘Not directly,’ the shadow corrected. ‘His own gain spurs his actions. Yet the desire of the Grimman-Seth may serve us further.’
‘How so? Do we not already possess the secret so long sought?’
‘Yes,’ the shadow agreed. ‘The fool does not even know his mind was violated. I now speak of the stranger…the one called Talisman.’
The Trine watched as a glimmer of white appeared in the night. The glint of teeth.
‘That which the fleshdabbler seeks may end in Talisman’s death.’
‘Do you sense as we that he may be the one of prophecy?’
‘Uncertain,’ the shadow replied. ‘Even we may have been corrupted by the fear of this human superstition. Yet he will be tested—if he survives. We shall discover if he is flesh and blood alone. Our tool shall be the son of the archduke. The Dark now fills him…yet we must remain cautious. Remember: as we serve the Dark, so there are those who serve the Light.’
‘The beadsman and his cursed cult.’
The shadow nodded in a precise human gesture. ‘They…and others.’
‘They believe themselves so secure. Their puny Tower is likened unto a fortress, unassailable.’
‘They possess power of a kind. Yet against the Lightless One, it will be of no avail. When the time is right, they will be destroyed…and all who follow them.’
‘The Horde is massed and lies in readiness. Not much longer can they be held in abeyance. The Praad grows impatient.’
“As I am commanded, so shall you be…even unto the Praad! Though I suffer the intolerable cloak of human senses, I am still what I have always been. Do nothing until you receive my order. Through my voice shall be relayed the commands of the Lightless One!”
The Trine were shocked by the sudden harshness of the reply. Even more that it now came from a human throat. They hesitated, almost as if they communicated only among themselves
‘You are the Nonce. The One-who-is-yet-three. We obey.’
‘Good.’ The shadow was once more enveloped within the mind link. ‘Go now. The dawn rises shortly and I must return to my duties before I am missed.’
A solitary leaf spiraled to earth, unseen and unnoticed. The night moved sluggishly, its dark form thick and heavy and still cloaked. Far to the East, a pale-glimmering blush appeared, as unhurried in its ascension as the darkness was to recede. Ever so slowly, it pushed apart the veil until the