Interphase (38 page)

The morning was strangely gray, the skies overcast with thick clouds. It was not a frequent occurrence in the city, but occasionally the weather creation routines called for a break from sunny and open skies. It seemed somehow appropriate.

Clyde drew one hand from his coat pocket and brushed the surface of the black stone monument. There were over two hundred names written on the polished surface: the names of every person who had perished in the bombing of the city's power station a decade ago. He closed his eyes and sent his thoughts outward. "Did you know any of them?"

VERA stirred within his mind, gazing out from behind his eyes to observe the names. "I knew all of them," she replied sadly.

It had never felt real to Clyde. He had grown up knowing that his parents had killed others in their quest to free the world from VERA's dominance, but the knowledge had always seemed distant, unimportant, mere words on a page. Here, in the presence of an undeniable record of history, he could feel the enormity of their deeds on his soul. Staring at the list of names, it occurred to him that he never knew who his parents really were.

Clyde remembered his father's sharp, sometimes cutting laugh. Owen Verell could slice through layers of pretense with a single remark, but it was the laughter that followed it that carried the sting. It had always seemed to be slightly mocking.

For years his mother had worn her hair long, usually braided down her back. The night before the bombing, Faith Verell had come home with the braid missing, and Clyde had nearly called the bots thinking she was a burglar.

Those were the things that came to mind when he thought of his parents, a pile of scattered memories and impressions. They hardly seemed to form the picture of a pair of terrorists.

Clyde put his hand on the stone again and read a few names. Despite his own memories, the evidence, and the legacy his parents had left behind, were hard to ignore.

"I did not know them. They closed themselves to me a long time ago," VERA whispered.

Clyde's lips twitched in an ironic smile. "Me too." He sat down on a bench. "VERA, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"I need to be alone right now. Or as much as we can be. Can you, um, minimize our link? Or whatever it would be called. Just for a little while? I think it's time I said good-bye."

Clyde thought he could feel a ghostly touch on his cheek, and then her presence withdrew. She was still there at the very edge of his senses, but it was the quietest his mind had been in several days. The feeling of aloneness made the chill of the morning seem stronger. He pulled his jacket close around him and closed his eyes, thinking about everything he could remember, everything that he had learned. There had to be a balance somewhere between the two.

Owen and Faith had fought for what they believed in. They had shown the world the extent to which they'd been willing to go. While the basis of their conflict was a misunderstanding about the nature of VERA and humanity's freedom, what they had done could never be changed. They had made their choices and accepted the consequences that resulted.

Clyde had his own life to live now. In a peculiar way, he was a part of the system his parents had fought against. It was no longer his playground; now it was his responsibility. He nodded to himself. The way things had turned out really was all right.

Footsteps on grass sounded behind him. Clyde turned around and froze.

Thomas's eyes widened in surprise, but his expression quickly darkened. "What are
you
doing here?"

Clyde scowled. So it was going to be like that, was it? "I came to pay my respects. Let go of my regrets for what my folks did."

"Regret does not change the past, nor does it absolve someone of their guilt." Thomas looked away, studying a place on the memorial stone. Clyde followed his gaze and found the names of Bruce and Andrea Childs.

"They could have saved themselves," Thomas said hoarsely. "When the explosions first started, they got their crews to safety, then went back into the station to search for others. They died as heroes." He reached out toward the stone, but his hand trembled and he made a fist. His eyes squeezed shut. "Yours—"

"Mine died as villains, political zealots. In the end, I don't think how they are remembered really makes a whole lot of difference to them. Once you're gone, you're gone."

"It matters."

"It matters to
you
. It used to matter to me too, but you know what? The only thing that really matters is what someone does in the present."

Thomas kept his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. Clyde sighed and shook his head. He could almost pity the guy. "You really can't let any of this go, can you? You're going to hold onto your anger until it consumes you. All right…" He got to his feet, took off his jacket and stood directly in front of Thomas. "Hit me."

Thomas blinked and frowned at him with suspicion. "What?"

"I said hit me. It's obvious you need to hit
something
, Lancelot. Might as well be the son of your 'mortal enemies'. Just get it out of your system so we can stop acting like teenagers and get back to the rest of our lives."

Thomas advanced a step, and the suspicion on his face gave way to anger. "I am warning you, Clyde. If this is some kind of trick—"

"It's not a trick, you stupid jackass," Clyde snapped. "Don't tell me you're afraid to hit me."

That did it. Thomas pulled back his fist and slammed it into Clyde's face. He felt his jaw pop, and a salty flood filled his mouth. Staggering, he nearly dropped to his knees and tried to blink the flashing spots away.

"There, you see?" Clyde mumbled. Just moving his jaw to talk sent waves of dizziness rolling through his head.

He looked up. Thomas was staring at him with a mixture of rage and horror in his eyes. Without a word, he turned and ran.

Clyde sat down on the grass and wiped the blood from his lips. "Even that wasn't enough for you, was it?" he whispered at Thomas's retreating form. "I pity whoever you run into next." He spat out the rest of the blood in his mouth and gingerly popped his jaw back in place. "Damn me and my cleverness." He sent a thought at the link in the back of his mind. "VERA, the next time I have a bright idea, slap me, will ya?"

***

"Are you certain he will come, my Sage?" Varlath asked. He stood near the edge of the clearing and shielded his eyes against the rising sun.

"He is already here," Shalaron answered. With his eyes closed, he could detect the sound of footfalls on the grass, drawing steadily nearer. Soon a cloaked figure appeared around a tree, and Varlath stepped back into the sheltering ring.

Shalaron stood up as Halathas approached and cast back his hood. In all the years he had known his Seneschal, he had never seen him look so relieved, and Shalaron spared him a welcoming smile.

"I had suspected the Siathrak were corrupt, but never to this extent," Halathas growled, then sank to one knee before the Sage. "They told us all that you had succumbed to your injuries. If I had only known…"

Shalaron rested a hand on Halathas's shoulder. "It is good to see you, my friend. Do not trouble yourself with their machinations. They will reap their rewards soon enough."

Halathas lifted his head and nodded, a determined glint in his violet eyes. He stood up. "My heart leapt when I saw the mark you left. I came as soon as I could slip away unnoticed. You mean to retake the city, my lord?"

"I do. And unlike the last Sage to try, I shall not need an army of honorless warriors to do so." Shalaron's gaze shifted between Rupu and Varlath before coming to rest back on Halathas. "Are you with me, my friend?"

"Until the world's end, my Sage."

For the next several minutes Shalaron discussed the details of his plan, questioning Halathas on the locations of the Holy Army's camp and Sarolkh's garrison within the city. "The only remaining unknown is whether Nathalion will lend us his support as well," he concluded.

Rupu looked thoughtful. "I believe he will, my lord. The Siathrak tried to execute his pupil, and I can't imagine that they've shown respect or gentleness to the Rethkor. He holds no love for the Siathrak's incursion and would aid us gladly, I think. All we need to do is get the word to him."

"I will see to it that he knows of our goal," Halathas rumbled. "Once the Rethkor has begun its attack, I shall meet you at the temple stairs, my lord."

Shalaron nodded. "Then go now. Be safe. We shall follow shortly and await your signal."

Halathas departed, and Varlath set about hiding all traces of their meager camp. Shalaron drew Rupu aside. "You are prepared to do your part, adept?" he asked sternly.

As he'd expected, Rupu's nod was somewhat reluctant. "Yes, my Sage. I simply wish that I didn't have to remain behind when you face Sarolkh."

"The heartroot is nearly defenseless on its own. If the Siathrak discover the source of their assault, they will attack you and try to destroy the townsfolk in the process." Shalaron sighed and gazed into the distance. "A Sage's first duty is to the people of his city, no matter his own personal wishes… they will need you."

Rupu watched him intently, then nodded his acceptance, a tiny smile cracking his lips. "Forgive my impertinence, my lord, but I see a story behind your eyes. Perhaps someday you might share it with me?"

Shalaron looked at Rupu with an unreadable expression, before his face returned to its grim demeanor. "We have much to do before such things can be considered." He turned to Varlath. "Halathas will have set things in motion by now. Let us to the city, so that our part in these events will not be delayed."

They set off, watching carefully for any patrols outside the city. They hid themselves within a sheltered copse in view of Ilinar's walls. Shalaron watched the knotted, ancient vines for any signs of movement. Behind him, Rupu kept the entryway propped open; Varlath was already inside the hidden tunnel he had spoken of last night. The morning sun filtered through the hanging branches above, and it felt as if all of nature waited with bated breath for the attack to begin.

A loud snapping sound filled the air as vines began to uncoil like flexing fingers. The nearest Siathrak warriors shouted in surprise as they were grabbed and hurled from the walls. Shalaron jumped into the tunnel beside Varlath, filling his palm with light as Rupu let the trapdoor slam shut. They hurried along behind Varlath and emerged in an empty room of the patriarch's house.

At the front door, Shalaron gripped them both by a shoulder. "Protect our people!"

"Siath be with you, my Sage," Varlath said. Rupu nodded and the two of them ran toward the city center. Varlath would gather the people of the city near the heartroot, where Nathalion was already coaxing the Rethkor to assail the Siathrak. If the worst should come to pass, Rupu would be able to hold off the soldiers until Sarolkh could be dealt with.

Shalaron ran toward the temple. True to his word, Halathas met him at the steps. He had already wrested the weapons from a pair of unconscious guards and was testing the spears for balance. Shalaron appraised him. "The years have not dulled your fighting edge, old friend."

"Though Seneschal I am happily, I was born a fighter." He discarded one of the weapons and flourished the other, his eyes blazing with purpose. "I will keep the bodyguards from distracting you. Lay my vengeance with yours upon Sarolkh's corpse, my lord."

They charged up the steps, Halathas a few paces in front. Another group of Siathrak appeared at the temple entrance, and they paused in shock. That moment was all Halathas needed. Two fell to his spear before the others could even raise their weapons. Halathas dodged the answering blows with an agility that belied his large frame, and his spear deftly slipped between their defenses to deliver fatal counterattacks. Shalaron stepped over the fallen bodies and continued in.

They emerged in the main chamber of the temple. A shout rang out, and Sarolkh's head snapped up, his eyes betraying his shock and fear. Shalaron saw that fear turn to rage. "Heretics and pagans," Sarolkh snarled. "By Siath's will, you shall die."

"Hear me, Siathrak worms!" Shalaron cast off his tattered outer robe, and the stones around him began to burn. "I am Shalaron, Sage of Ilinar. I am world shaper and mind breaker. Any who choose to oppose me shall perish. I give you this single chance to escape your doom. Leave my city now, and vow never to return, or face the oblivion that awaits at my command."

With an ugly sneer Sarolkh pointed at Shalaron. "He dies first."

Shalaron's answering gaze was grim. "Sarolkh, your fate is sealed. No trace shall remain of you when my judgment is complete."

The four elite guards marched forward, weapons drawn. With a ringing shout, Halathas leapt toward them, his spear flickering through the air at his foes. Shalaron stepped around the melee and approached his target.

"This display only delays your end." Sarolkh drew his karta sword from its sheath, the polished stone blade gleaming malevolently. "I have been trained against powers such as your own. Siath's might will not be overcome!"

Shalaron sent a stream of fire coursing toward the captain. Sarolkh raised the blade in front of him and when the fire struck, it divided to either side. A spear of ice met the same fate, shattering and liquefying on contact with the blade.