ONE
(1,000th Cycle of Post-Cloister)
THE TWO MEN stood on a grassy sward outside the Tower of Light. The winds blew fair from the sea, ruffling the cream tops of the wheatgrass and moderating the heat.
Not all the heat, thought Ryder Talisman as he struggled to maintain his one-legged stance and still hold all five Ryl shields in place by the effort of his will alone. His muscles trembled from the strain, and his thoughts neared desperation. It has to be at least a minute by now.
Beads of sweat funneled to his brows, pooled there, then dripped further to sting his eyes.
It’s merely an annoyance. Disregard it!
The inner command was useless. His focus broke; he lost his balance and his shields tumbled to the grass. Only by the nimble shuffling of his feet did he prevent himself from landing on his ass beside them.
Muttering in frustration, he glared at the silver slivers. Shafts of sunlight glinted off their tips, making them appear like winking eyes. Mocking him like crumbs of bread left upon a trail to lure a hapless fool into a trap.
Most infuriating was the sight of Mendiko Sid a few paces to his right, still firmly rooted in his pose. The prince’s eyes were closed, his expression serene. His chest rose and fell with the regular rhythm of a man lazing upon a sandy beach.
It was too much for Ryder, and the bitter words came tumbling out. “By the Rim! I will never master this skill. It…it is impossible!”
Mendiko sighed and gracefully lowered his leg to the ground, clucking his tongue in disapproval. “You are being childish. It must be possible, for how else could the Sword Brotherhood exist? And you have already mastered it. Several Adepts witnessed its happening, so you cannot deny it. You must merely rediscover what you have lost.”
When Ryder kicked the turf rather than reply, Mendiko eyed him sternly. “Have you forgotten what the Pat’Riark told you about patience?”
“I have forgotten nothing!” Ryder stormed. “He has forgotten me. Where is he, anyway?”
It was the second turn since the departure of Kronus and the wenlords, yet there had been no sign of the Pat’Riark. When not immersed in the training, Ryder carried the slivers of Ryl in a pouch around his neck. He had tucked his sword of Kirlin into a sash given to him by a local fisherman. The robe of Eldon still cloaked his giant frame since the tall Magi had never reclaimed it.
The prince’s brows had lowered—a clear sign of his displeasure. “How should I know? It is not my place to monitor the comings and goings of the Pat’Riark of Swords. I only know he told me to instruct you, and so I have.”
Ryder opened his mouth but shut it at once. Whatever he said would be wrong. Regarding the Metals, he was an infant taking his first steps. He must stumble and fall countless times before he mastered the basic skills, despite what he had supposedly done before. Yet it was difficult to remain open-minded. Or patient.
“I will say only this much,” Mendiko broke the silence. “You have already shown your difference. You can hold all five shields in place.”
“Aye, for less than a minute,” Ryder grumbled.
Mendiko stared at him until his muttering ceased.
“For the vast majority of Initiates, it takes several moons to accomplish what you have done in two turns. Even the Pat’Riark did not progress at such blinding speed. This is but one more affirmation you are the Chosen One…”
“By the gods! How sick I am of hearing that!” Ryder turned away and stomped a few paces before pausing. On a deeper level, he knew he was behaving badly, so he forced himself to remain silent and still.
They were on the landward side of the Tower, facing the massive wall of the Korda. The stone possessed little reflective quality half a kilometer away, yet such was its towering height Ryder would have tumbled over backward had he tried to look at its summit. He could not imagine the magnitude of such a project, or the wizardry its construction must have entailed.
“We will take a break from the training,” Mendiko said, moving to stand beside him. “You obviously need one.”
Ryder’s grunt was barely audible as he set his feet moving toward the Korda. The gigantic edifice drew them both like a lodestone.
“It took twenty cycles to complete,” the prince said, as if he had read his mind. “Even with the vast resources of the empire, it took that long. The descendants of the original builders still live here. As I told you on the Pegasus, it has been many cycles since last I came to the Sacred Isle, and many more since I entered the Korda. Yet every child quickly learns its dimensions.”
Ryder felt his good humor returning as Mendiko once again lapsed into the pose of guide and teacher.
“It is oval, with a longitudinal axis of four klicks. The horizontal axis is half that distance, and the height a quarter. There are one hundred lifts and chutes. The capacity is one million people, though I believe it could hold many more. No one has ever bothered to do a more accurate estimate. When it is full—as it always is during the Great Moot—the sights and sounds are inconceivable. In short: one must see it to believe.”
They had reached the nearest wall, and Ryder felt as though he stood beneath the castle of a Titan. Mendiko chose the first lift they came to. It had viewports on either side, offering them a vista of both the interior and exterior. The builders appeared to have sacrificed speed for the sake of the panoramic view, for they rose at a turtle’s pace.
“Computers control the rate from the central dome housing,” Mendiko told him, reading his face. “There is also a manual override inside each lift, available to the operator should he so wish.
Having said this, Mendiko did not speed their progress. As the seconds passed, Ryder understood why.
The view of the harbor and the village became increasingly breathtaking as they rose, for it was a sunny turn. When Ryder looked inward, the sight staggered him. Only then could he gauge the Korda’s true size.
The sides sloped in a gradual fall to form an oval field. The tiered seating followed the pattern of a rainbow: shades of red flowing down to violet. The number was uncountable. A million, Mendiko had said.
The Korda had a dome, as expected, though it was unlike the force fields he had seen so far. This one more closely resembled the smoked cubicle of the Rudd in the Star Chamber. Beneath the pinnacle was a pyramid-shaped structure suspended from four archways—undoubtedly lifts.
“Strips of teklume line the dome,” Mendiko continued to explain. “At night, they light the interior like a cool sun. The seating area is merely the icing on the cake, as Kronus is fond of saying. Beneath the floor are countless eateries, with culinars from all over the Pentarchy flaunting their wares.
“And countless holos, I suppose?” Ryder added wryly.
“Of course,” Mendiko replied. “What else would you expect from the greatest spectacle in nine galaxies?”
They had reached the uppermost tier, but Mendiko continued a further level to a rampart-like walkway lining the perimeter. A low railing girded the inner boundary, preventing the unwary from accidentally plummeting to the seats below. The entire colossus stretched out beneath them, silent as death, yet Ryder tried to imagine it alive and throbbing with the excitement of the Great Moot. As the prince had said, it was impossible. One had to experience it.
“The Metals created the impetus for all this,” Mendiko told him. “As the power of the Metals is great, so did they need something of equal magnitude upon which to reflect. Fortunatus and the D’ia Mor…the Metals and the Korda…four pieces of a puzzle, inextricably entwined.”
The prince slipped down to rest on the edge of the walkway. His feet dangled between the railings and moved rhythmically as he spoke. Ryder followed his example, sensing the beginning of another long tale.
“There is much you need to know about our history if you are to understand this unfamiliar world,” Mendiko advised. “I will try not to bore you, but the tale is long, covering a thousand cycles. So be patient.
Easier said than done, Ryder argued silently.
“Fortunatus was born on a colonized planet in the dominion of Faerwyn-Joss, called Linus Blue. He knew nothing of Kirlin or Ryl when he came to Earth, for the D’ia Mor had not yet reached these shores. Nor did he have any inkling of what was to take place, or so he claims. He imbibed the Serum when he became an adult, yet he has never explained how this was possible since it is proscribed to the salariat.
“As far as we know, he is not of noble blood. His father—whoever he may have been—deserted his mother while he was only a babe. He reached his manhood under her guidance and the man she later chose as her companion, though she did not survive beyond his twentieth cycle.
“Not long after her death, he left his planet and his remaining kin—a thing not lightly done in those times—and still not even now. He left because he had a dream of power. He wandered for many cycles before finally reaching Earth. He came here of all places after constructing a sailing vessel of questionable soundness with his own hands. There was nothing here then, apart from wild creatures. Yet of all the nooks and crannies on countless planets in the union, he chose this island—for it is a place of power in a double sense.”
Mendiko stretched his arm toward the sea far below. “There…can you see it?”
To the East as far as the curve of the horizon lay an unblemished carpet of blue, appearing as though painted with a brush of exceeding fineness. Yet several kilometers away rested a shadow. At first, Ryder thought it might be the moving reflection of a cloud as it floated past. But there were no clouds; and it was not moving.
“The ancient kin of Marlon had decided this would be their home, though Fortunatus did not realize it at first,” Mendiko explained. “The Rudd ship would have been impossible to see from the shore. He thought he was alone. But he possessed patience of a rare kind and waited, knowing not why but trusting in whatever power had drawn him here.”
The Sword Thane gave Ryder a sidelong glance. “Though it is unlikely he would admit it, I suspect he was as confused and anxious as you are now.” His voice hardened. “These are secrets known only by those fortunate enough to have become his disciples. Not even Kronus is aware of them since he would be too tempted to include them in his writings.”
Ryder nodded. “No one shall hear them from me.”
“The Pat’Riark has admitted only eighteen disciples before you: the Ten of the Magi—eleven when you include Lady Niobe, sister of the archduke; her consort, Deemus, whom you have not yet met; Shaan Sid, the Rian of Faerwyn-Joss; Thorgrim Halfinger, Baron of the Third Earth Wen; Shaka and Roland and myself.”
“And the eighteenth?”
“Ulric Germanicus, Lord Warden of Gehenna: the prison planet of the Pentarchy.”
“A prison warden?” Ryder was both surprised and curious, for his questioning tone brought a frown to Mendiko’s face. “Why the look?”
“He once commanded the Rim Fleet. At this time, there are only four others who hold the rank of commander in the Gardai.”
“Something serious must have happened.”
“Indeed.”
The prince seemed disinclined to talk further about Ulric, but Ryder was now like a dog with a fresh bone in his teeth. “Well?”
“He was crippled in the last Great Moot and could no longer perform his duties to his satisfaction. He asked for the posting and the archduke appointed him.”
“But with the Genetic Engineers’ ability to restructure physical form, could they not have healed him?”
Mendiko shook his head. “He did not wish it.”
Ryder could get nothing more regarding the mysterious happenstance, so he let it go for the time being.
“The Pat’Riark waited alone for many turns before the Rudd came,” Mendiko continued. “He was expecting something to happen, but I am certain it was not the coming of the emissary. His name was Frye, an earlier descendant of the same line as Marlon. Like Marlon, he was also the leader of the Ruderai, the warrior caste.
“There were several meetings, and they spoke of mundane things at first. But then something momentous happened that would change the entire structure of the Confederation. Frye brought gifts in the form of two distinct kinds of metal. The first was a sword seemingly forged from gold. The second was a set of five slim triangular shields resembling silver—yet these gifts were neither silver nor gold. They were the Twin Metals: Kirlin and Ryl. The very same Metals you now bear.
“The Rudd did not explain how they knew of their power, or that Fortunatus possessed the Gift. Fortunatus had guessed his difference, yet his true potential may have lain dormant his entire life had not the Metals come to him. As it was, he evinced strange abilities. He could move objects without touching them, using only the burgeoning power of his mind. He could also sense the thoughts of other creatures. His dreams became even stranger. Visions, he was wont to call them. In some unknown fashion, they allowed him to understand what he must do.
“Through long hours of meditation, he discovered the secret of the Metals: the power comes not from them but the bearer, amplified a hundredfold by their aura.” Mendiko pointed at the sword resting in Ryder’s sash. “As you must have noticed, your sword bears the symbol of the Rodoken, the ancient creature of fire in Rudd mythology.”
Ryder nodded and drew the sword, raising it to the light. He had studied the symbol at length. It resembled a lizard in shape, which made Ryder think of the Earth legend of the salamander, taken from the old Greek meaning fire-lizard. It was deeply etched, roughly the length of his little finger and twice its width.
“Here I must diverge since the story becomes more complicated,” Mendiko said. “The D’ia Mor had recently arrived on the scene. Edwin Croll encountered them first—the same Croll who is now Deputy Lord Marshal of the Gardai. He was then a young oberon of the Supply Fleet, and his duties frequently took him to the outermost reaches of what was then the Confederation.
“The emissaries came in nine ships, each bearing three of their number—a Trine we later learned. It was a peaceful contact, though I’m sure there was a lot of initial tension and distrust. Croll escorted the leading Trine to the capital of Brigantia.
“These newly discovered D’ia Mor were interested yet cautious. They explained that a Nova sun had destroyed their system, all but wiping them out. Only a handful had survived. Their space-drive was crude by comparison with the Grimman-Seth or the Rudd, and infantile when likened to Zurd. It had taken them many centuries to reach the perimeter of our civilization.
“Their arrogance was greatly misunderstood at first, for they demanded admission to the Confederation as equal partners. Archduke Victor was more amused than angry—until they offered to demonstrate the reason for their immediate acceptance. They asked all members of the reigning council to leave the hall. There was a Great Hall then, yet nothing as grand as the Star Chamber. Interested despite a few misgivings, Victor Mondragon ordered compliance.
“The D’ia Mor Trine of Enn, working alone, destroyed the building in a matter of moments. When they walked from the rubble, there was not a scratch on them. Not a single grain of dust had penetrated their shields. It was an awesome display of power, and the only time since their arrival they have done such a thing.
“From that moment on, the archduke realized their worth—and even more important, the value of the Metals. Though the Rudd were wary, the archduke’s influence was enough to gain the D’ia Mor’s acceptance. Part of the price was the Metals: a sword of Kirlin and shields of Ryl presented to Victor.”
“The primus does not have the Gift,” Ryder protested. “He can never be Swordkind.”
“No, as luck would have it,” Mendiko replied. “Unlike his son, Zel. The original sword and shields remain in Castle Mondragon where they have always lain, vestigial gifts that none may weild.”
Ryder was beginning to appreciate the complexity of the Pentarchy, the web of intrigue that must exist when trying to maintain equilibrium between five disparate races. But Mendiko’s tale had engrossed him now, and he would not disturb its flow.
“The D’ia Mor used trickery in gaining acceptance,” the prince continued. “Though they showed the power of the Metals and promised to instruct other gifted men in their usage, they did not do so at first. Long cycles passed, and then something happened they did not expect.”
Mendiko once more regarded Ryder with a look of anticipation, as if the newly appointed Initiate should continue the tale. With a sudden flash of insight, Ryder knew the answer.
“Fortunatus changed everything.”
Mendiko grinned. “Amazing insight or the excellence of my tale-telling. Which do you suppose?”
Ryder waited patiently while Mendiko took the time to enjoy his humor.
“Within a few cycles of his arrival, notables in many fields visited the isle. They came because of the tales that had spread of the lone man who possessed the Metals and could control their power. Robert the Piper visited, also Galen of the Genetic Engineers, and Arkadies Venn, Jain of the Guild, among others. But there were also those with a story similar to Fortunatus’. Something had drawn them there, though for what purpose none of them could explain. Fortunatus began teaching them, using the still fledgling knowledge he had gained. Only a few at first. And once again, the Rudd provided the Metals.”
A question had been burning in Ryder’s mind for several moments, and he could wait no longer to ask. “You said the D’ia Mor brought the Metals. From where then did the Rudd get those they gave to Fortunatus and the others?”
Mendiko regarded him with a teasing smile. “Where do you suppose?”
Ryder stared back at him in chagrin. “You don’t mean they stole them?”
Mendiko threw back his head and burst out laughing. He did not stop for several moments. At last, he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe. “You slay me, Ryder Talisman. You consistently say the unsayable. Believe me when I tell you it is refreshing. No, they did not steal them. The Rudd have no conception of theft. Their virtue is pure. The Metals came from there…” He pointed once more to the shadow beneath the sea, “…where they have lain for over a millennium. It is the most astonishing circumstance of all, perhaps even wilder than your bizarre arrival. I said this is a place of dual power.” He nodded toward the majestic, snow-capped mountain looming in the distance. “The Rudd named it Morne Gir in their language, which roughly translates as Thunder-Fell. Out there, close to the Rudd Fortress of Power, is the resting place of the Norn.”
Ryder suddenly had the answer to the puzzle, but Mendiko was not about to let him steal his thunder.”
“Yes,” the prince nodded sagely. “The Norn is a rogue piece of the very system the D’ia Mor used to call their home, composed almost entirely of Ryl and Kirlin.”
There was a moment of silence in which Ryder digested this amazing information, and then Mendiko continued.
“The archduke was a regular visitor to the isle. He and the Pat’Riark became fast friends. Yet even Fortunatus could not cause the impossible to happen. Victor Mondragon—for all his insight and ability as a leader—showed no sign of the Gift, though he spent many cycles anxiously awaiting its arrival. During that time, Fortunatus’ power had grown. If not yet Adept, he had reached the level of Sword Thane. The D’ia Mor eventually discovered this and became incensed, yet there was nothing they could do. They could not sway the Rudd or the archduke, and even the Rigan of Faerwyn-Joss sided with them.
“The swordmasters did the only thing possible. They now instructed others, hoping they could maintain partial control of the knowledge. They succeeded beyond their expectations. Fortunatus proved to be not only an exceptional teacher but a particular one. Yet even if it had been his wish, he could not have taught the great number who sought knowledge of the sword.
“Thus began the Brotherhood of Swords. The D’ia Mor formed an academy called Athame, on Triton—the planet they chose as their new homeworld. Though thousands flocked to the banner, only a small number gained acceptance, for the Gift is stingy in its manifestation. And rightly so. A thing too widely possessed quickly loses its value. Even now, roughly eight-hundred cycles after the discovery of the Metals, the entire number of the Sword Brotherhood is barely two thousand, with the number of Adepts only a third.
“Though the Code is of council design—and perhaps to a lesser extent, the Pat’Riark’s—the meaning of the sword rank is strictly D’ia Mor. In their language, Dao I’n, Dao N’Athair, and Shiul Mha D’In, are Initiate, Sword Thane, and Adept respectively.
Mendiko sighed and leaned forward to hook his arm over the railing. “I should have brought something to drink,” he complained. “Tale-telling is thirsty work.”
“Please don’t stop now,” Ryder pleaded.
But Mendiko’s attention now riveted on something high above them. When Ryder looked up, he saw a large white bird hovering near the dome’s surface, its black-spotted wings fluttered madly. Piercing shrieks clamored its frustration as it bounced repeatedly off the smoky material.
“A gyrfalcon,” Mendiko murmured appreciatively. “We have a bird very much like it on Faerwyn-Joss. It is the sigil of my mother’s House. Even here on Earth, one seldom sees the breed so far south.”
“How do you suppose it got inside?” Ryder wondered. Mendiko had explained how the dome rolled back, but this happened only once each cycle and always after the Great Moot.
The prince shrugged. “The custodians must have left an entryway open long enough for it to wander in by mistake.”
“Well, it’s trapped now,” Ryder said. “Tiring too by the looks of it.”
Mendiko nodded. “No telling how long it’s been inside without food or water.”
“I have a little of both.” At his friend’s quizzical look, Ryder added, “I still suffer from hunger and thirst, even if you don’t.”
“On this turn, that could be the bird’s luck,” the prince observed dryly.
“Do you suppose we can entice it down here?”
Mendiko shook his head. “Unlikely. Such a wild creature will have an inbred fear of us.”
“Let’s try it anyway,” Ryder suggested, reaching into his bag and pulling out a strip of bacon.
Mendiko sighed. “I doubt its diet has ever included smoked meat, but as you wish.”
“A starving predator is unlikely to be picky,” Ryder retorted. He lifted the meat on high and waved. The falcon’s eyesight was far beyond any human’s, and it immediately noticed the movement.
It circled above their heads, its screeching cries a mixture of defiance and hunger. After a few seconds, it alighted on a seat ten meters above and to their left.
“It is too weak to fly for more than brief bursts,” Mendiko observed. “Try laying the meat on an armrest. We’ll remove ourselves far enough it feels safe in grabbing it.”
“What about water?” Ryder wondered. He saw no sign of anything to use as a container.
“Pour some on the seat,” Mendiko suggested. “The shape is concave and will hold enough to assuage its thirst.”
They moved a dozen paces away. The bird immediately danced across the seats and began tearing into the bacon.
They watched for a moment and saw the falcon lower his beak into the small pool of water.
“What now?” Ryder asked.
“Fortunatus will open the dome so it can escape.” Mendiko eyed Ryder and shook his head. “Now that you have performed your good deed for the turn, may I conclude my tale?”
Ryder grinned and bowed. “By all means.”
“The prince resumed his seat. “Where was I?
“You were saying the D’ia Mor had just started the Academy of Swords on Triton.”
“Ah, yes,” Mendiko nodded and continued. “Thirty cycles passed. No one had reached the level of Adept, not even Fortunatus. The archduke still showed no sign of the Gift. Fortunatus made a solemn vow to climb the heights of Thunder-Fell and remain there until the High Power manifested itself, even if it meant his death.
“He knew it existed, not only from his visions but from the exhibition of the D’ia Mor upon their arrival. Luckily for Fortunatus—and us—he succeeded. In the thirty-first cycle after the formation of the Pentarchy, Fortunatus of the Sacred Isle discovered the High Power and became Adept.
“This event caused several upheavals. The archduke lost all patience and never returned to Faer-Alon. Though he is a wise and just ruler, he is not immune to the vices of pride and envy. I believe this is the reason for the lingering enmity between the two men.
“More cycles passed, long enough for the D’ia Mor to issue a challenge. They proposed to hold a contest. They would acknowledge the winner the greatest among the Swordkind, and he would bear the title ‘Riark of Swords’. They chose a champion from the Adepts who had emerged from their disciples. At first, Fortunatus refused, yet after persistent attempts at swaying his mind he finally accepted. Long before the Korda and the Great Moot, was the first contest of the sword.”
Mendiko paced back and forth as though overcome by the vision, and his words came faster. “As you have witnessed, the power of an Adept is awesome. Yet Fortunatus defeated the champion of the D’ia Mor with ease. He fought five times in succession before he declared an end. The Rudd presented him with what has become the crowning glory of the Swordkind: the Kryll. It is the rarest of the rare, the perfect blend of Ryl and Kirlin, which only a power as great as a Nova sun can create.
“Far from being reviled for his victories, Fortunatus became the object of almost godlike worship, not only among his following but among all the Swordkind. He became known as the Pat’Riark. Though he no longer fought, the contests continued on Faer-Alon. The archduke offered to construct a special amphitheater, but no one dreamt the Korda would be the result.”
Mendiko paused and turned to stare at him grimly. “This is the reason for the envy and undying hatred burning in the hearts of the D’ia Mor. Though they were the first Swordkind, and nearly all the Brotherhood come from Athame, they will never have the love and devotion of the Adepts the Pat’Riark has earned. Respect, awe, and even fear perhaps…but never love. And never the loyalty you witnessed yesterturn. And thus, never the control they seek.”
“There is another question I’ve been pondering,” Ryder said carefully. “Why are there no women among the Swordkind?”
Once again, Mendiko shook his head. “You continue to show your otherworldliness. In truth, there is no certain answer. Perhaps for the same reason there have never been women Zurd. The incidence of the Gift in women is sparse. Whether this lack is a matter of genetics or merely happenstance is unknown. Those few who show any ability are usually inducted into the Aelyth Faynir: the Healers. Call it an ancient compunction towards chivalry, which turns out not to be chivalry at all. Yet there is one exception—Lady Niobe, the archduke’s sister.”
“Why have I never seen her?” wondered Ryder. “She must be a person of considerable importance.”
“And not solely because of her birth,” Mendiko agreed. “She is also one of the Magi and an Adept of the First Rank. Yet she rarely leaves her Retreat on the edge of Ravel, for she is also Domina of the Aelyth Faynir. Her Retreat has become the Seat of their Order.” Like the subject of Ulric Germanicus before this, Mendiko was little disposed to talk of the Lady.
“I’m not sure I understand these differences in the Gift,” Ryder admitted. “Especially between the Swordkind and the Magi.”
“There is not so great a difference in power,” Mendiko said. “It is more a question of philosophy; an attitude of belief. But let us not digress from my tale,” the prince admonished.
“Fortunatus drew away from the sword, even though he was now its foremost luminary. He sequestered himself in the Hall of Scrolls for a time, studying the ancient tomes, driven by whatever visions continued to haunt his dreams to seek esoteric knowledge. He came t