Nightlord: Orb (17 page)

“Or something else along those lines, yes.”

“Rest assured, my own magical training is extensive.  I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of Things from beyond the world and killed most of them.  I have no love for, desire to see, or willingness to accommodate in any way, any other Thing.  If I encounter one, by my own accident or while walking down the street, I have no problem with killing it on sight.  Satisfied?”

“Reassured, at least,” he admitted.  “If I could, I’d still like to see whatever it is that’s making such waves in the ether.  Do you mind?”

“Normally, no; I wouldn’t mind,” I told him. “Your sister has still racked up more than one animosity point, however. You’re doing okay, but I’m still not inclined to be helpful, nice, or even tolerant. We got off not only on the wrong foot, but stepped on some dee-fours on the way.”

“Dee-fours?” he asked, brows drawing together in confusion.

“Caltrops,” I translated. “Sharp little things you deeply regret stepping on.”

“I think I get the idea.  Is there anything I can do to correct a terrible first impression?”

“Spend a year being exemplary,” I advised.  “Be formal, be polite, be an Englishman in Windsor Castle for tea.  Make sure I’m being informal and friendly with you before you start taking liberties with me.”

“I see.”  Judging by his expression, he was pensive and worried.  “I understand you feel offended.  I’m not sure I agree you have justification to be
that
offended, but I realize your priorities are not my priorities.  I’m more concerned with the potential problems your… whatever it is… could cause.  It’s going to attract attention in certain circles, you know.  We are not the only ones who will take an interest.”

I sighed and swung down from Bronze’s back.  I really hated to put him through this, especially since he seemed like such a nice guy.  He really was trying.  He was doing a good job of it, too.  I stepped forward into the moonlight by the door and he jumped, startled.

“Okay.  I’ll give you the basic idea of my research.  If you have objections, I’ll listen to them.  Then you can explain more about your ‘parties who manipulate such forces.’  But from now on, call ahead and ask for an appointment.  Deal?”

“I think I can make that deal, at least on the part of my own family.  Yes.  I agree.”

I shut the doors and turned on the lights.  When he finished blinking, I got out the chalk and drew a rough sketch of an Ascension Sphere.  Since he didn’t comment on the Ascension Stall, I chose not to draw his attention to it.

Ascension Stall.  Heh.  The Arondel Magicians Synchronized Graveyard Team have now perfected their Simultaneous Roll Over Routine.

“And you say this is what caused the disruptions we’ve been seeing?” he asked.

“It’s the only thing I can think of.  There’s a big one is in the basement.”

“I suppose that must be it, then.  Is this ritual complicated?”

“Yes.  And it’s pretty power-intensive, too.  Once you have one, though, it can build enough charge to let you make a second one with much less trouble.”

Victor continued to examine the sketch, fascinated.  He seemed puzzled by it and excited at the same time.

“Would it be possible to teach this to someone else?  Or is it a birthright?”

“It’s a spell,” I told him.  “You draw and write on the floor and empower it.”

“May I ask how you came by it?”

“It came to me in a dream,” I told him, which wasn’t precisely a lie.  “Why?”

“I was wondering if you might be open to the idea of teaching it to others,” he admitted.

“You mean to ask if I’m willing to, right?”

“Yes.”

“No.  Not yet, anyway,” I amended.  “There are still issues with it.”

“Issues?” he prompted, interested.

“I could tell you, but it wouldn’t mean anything without an understanding of the spell,” I lied.

“Ah.  But you will teach me how to perform the ritual?”

“Maybe.  I don’t like you enough for that.  Not yet, anyway.”

“I’ll work on it,” he promised.

“Now, come have a seat again and discuss with me what you meant about people who manipulate these forces.”

“You’re one of them,” he said, returning to the stool.  I clomped across the wooden floor, deliberately making noise, and sat on the reinforced corner of a workbench.

“I know about
me.
  Tell me more about
them
.”

“Which ones?”

I sighed.  Sometimes, I regret wanting to know everything.  It makes the scope of questions so huge, so broad, that answering them becomes problematic.  It’s like asking “Why?”  The answer is “Because!”  That doesn’t tell you anything, and any
practical
answer takes forever.

“Okay, look,” I said, “you have your family practice, right?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s start with that, and how you feel you fit in with the world at large.  That should be sufficiently complicated to give me inspiration for specific questions.  How’s that?”

That went on for a while.

My take-away from it all was this:

There are people who use magic in this world.  Which is to say they have some sort of ritual instructions for casting spells, whether gleaned from musty old tomes, ancient clay tablets, or handed down from generation to generation.  They have collections of spells, some of which are pointless today, others that are impossible to cast.  As an example, it’s hard to perform some sort of Grand Ritual Spell requiring thirteen casters if the magically-adept members of your family only total six.  I get the impression they don’t develop new spells; they don’t have the theory behind them.

There are a few dozen groups who have some magical abilities.  Mostly, it’s a family, but there are a few independent individuals and a few formal organizations.  The most powerful of these groups are the four non-family-based ones.  These organizations started as alliances between magical families and eventually grew together until they pooled their libraries and bloodlines, giving them the advantage of numbers, both in members and in spells.

While their magic does work, they have three major problems in Taking Over the World.

First, they don’t trust each other worth a bucket of spit.  Each of them is convinced everyone else wants their spells.  Don’t ask me why they think that.  It’s not entirely unreasonable, I guess, but I think the real reason is it’s handed down as an article of faith from generation to generation.

Second, their spells, for the most part, appear to be complicated, ritualistic things.  They have some minor magics—Victoria’s little ball of light being an example—but for most spells, they spend the day gathering power, drawing lines on the floor, calling the corners, invoking the spirits, asking for aid, and generally making a big to-do about it.  I haven’t seen them do one, so I don’t know how much of that is actually necessary and how much is ceremonial fluff.  But it almost certainly helps with:

Third, they have limited amounts of power.  Most families have their ancestral holdings on top of a source of magical energy—natural sites where magic seems to well up out of the ground, or shine down from the sky, or something.  There’s a whole science of ley lines, to track the magical circulation of the world through the ley line veins and arteries.  There is always a higher level of magical energy where they intersect.  Most of these intersections aren’t worth the effort—the place two minor ley lines cross is a slightly-better spot for casting a spell, nothing more.  The major nexuses—nexi?  Intersections.—where several lines cross, on the other hand, are the places a professional family of wizards builds a home.

What I have done, I’m told, is thrown off the Stuart family calculations.  There’s a small, two-line intersection a little to the west of Oklahoma City.  It’s not enough to warrant anyone building an estate there; it’s merely a slightly better spot for casting spells.  Until recently, that is.

According to their mystical maps, there shouldn’t be a power center under my house.  It should be somewhat to the west.  If the nexus has moved, then it’s the first time such a thing has ever happened in recorded history.  Worse, if it’s moved, then the ley lines are either bent or shifted, which may have larger effects on their maps of the things.  Would this cause a major shift in all nexus points?  Or would it just be a local thing with a couple of bent lines?  It was immediately decided this warranted investigation.  Now that I know why, I can’t say I blame them.

I suspect the nexus is right where they left it.  I can’t be sure, but I doubt I’m affecting the magical arteries of a planet.

I wonder.  If I can learn to sense a ley line, can I tap it like an actual artery and draw off magical power?  Or plug into it like plugging into a power main?  These people don’t seem to treat ley lines as anything more than guidelines to find a power center.  Are they living on top of power centers and using power by the equivalent of induction, rather than by direct conduction?

Interesting question.  I’m not going to ask.  I might look into it later, though.

“Okay, so, you’re the Stuart family and have a long history of being magicians.”

“We think of ourselves as magi, actually,” he replied, stiffly.  “My family traces its roots back to Gushnasaph, one of the twelve wise men who visited Christ.”

“My apologies,” I offered, sincerely.  “I was not aware.  Magi, by all means.  In accordance with your magi talents—tracing ley lines, finding power centers, that sort of thing—you’ve found my house.  Now that you know I’m here and have some idea what I’m doing, are you satisfied?  Do you need anything else from me, or are we done?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Victor admitted.  “I’m inclined to think we should try to maintain friendly relations.  If you’ll permit it, of course.  Most independent magi tend to either favor their independence, or are overjoyed to find they are not alone in their talents.  Obviously, you are the former, but would you mind if we keep in touch?  Nothing intrusive, of course.”

“Offhand, I have no real obj—”

Boss!  Company!

“Bronze.  If he moves, kill him.”  Twin jets of fire snorted from her nostrils and her eyes glowed red with heat.  Victor’s eyes widened and he stared at her.  I vanished across the back yard and into the house so fast I broke the screen door on the porch.  The back door slammed open so hard the doorknob broke through the wall and stuck.  Through the kitchen, through the dining room, into the living room.

The guy stood there in the living room, looking down at a contraption.  It was a box hanging by a strap from his neck, kind of like a cigarette girl’s tray, only smaller.  It had some sort of quasi-mechanical device mounted on it, but I didn’t pay much attention.  Whoever he was, he had already opened my front door and come into my house.  I know I locked the door, but none of my doorbells went off.

Yay!  An intruder!

I slowed down enough to clothesline him with my arm without materially injuring him, then continued to brake my momentum as it carried me out the still-open front door.  I skidded on the porch, went back in, and picked him up by the collar and belt buckle.

“Hi!” I chirped, cheerfully.  “You’re an intruder in my home!  Can you see your life flashing before your eyes?”

I didn’t wait for an answer, but hurried out to the barn with him, slamming his head lightly—for me—into lintels every time we went through a doorway.  When he tried to talk, I yanked up on the belt buckle.  He seemed to get the message.

Victor was still where I’d left him, staring at Bronze’s glowing eyes.  He hadn’t moved.  Smart man.

“Is this yours?” I asked him.  He turned, cautiously, to regard the semi-choked and lightly-concussed figure I held.  Victor frowned.

“No.  I don’t know him.”

I dropped him next to Victor and put a foot on his chest.  I leaned down.

“Who are you?  And why did you break into my house?”

His reply was, shall we say, not relevant.

“Sorry, you’re not my type,” I told him, and leaned a bit more weight on his chest.  “Victor?  What’s considered socially acceptable or expected in our circles?  Do I curse him and send him on his way?  Strip him naked and hang him by his ankles in the barn?  Or behead him and use his blood as a spell component?”

“Oh.  Um.  I really… I haven’t actually had to… I don’t recall the last time anyone in my family had to do this sort of thing.  Is his face supposed to change color like that?”

I eased off on his chest.

“Here’s the deal,” I told the guy on the ground.  “I don’t like having my home invaded.  Tell me who you are and why you did it and maybe I’ll consider some fate besides ripping your heart out and stuffing it down your throat.”

After he took a couple of deep breaths, he replied with a variation on his earlier theme.

“You’re not my mom’s type, either,” I told him, and ripped his shirt open.  I jerked him upright with a hand around his throat, then put fingers into him under the ribcage.  My fingernails aren’t razor sharp, but they’re sharper than a lot of kitchen knives.  That makes them more than adequate for cutting through flesh.  I made a fist around the lowest complete rib.  My grip on his throat kept him from screaming; it didn’t stop Victor.  Victor quieted immediately, though, and backed away, still watching with wide eyes.  I kept my attention on my victim, noting how his blood soaked directly into my fingers; none of it dripped down his skin.