Summoning Light (16 page)

Elric had anticipated the meeting. In his earlier examination of station records, he had noted that Refa's personal transport was scheduled to both arrive and depart on this day. Further investigation had revealed a connection between Refa's visit and the arrival of the Centauri freighter Ondavi, which carried grain for sale. Refa tried to hide the fact that he and his family owned the ship and the grain, since participating in such commerce was deemed unworthy for a Centauri born of high ancestry. But the wealth of Refa's family had greatly declined over the years, debts had accumulated, and entering into commerce was a desperate attempt to maintain the lifestyle in which he believed he must live. Through his visit, Refa clearly hoped to expedite some sales without revealing his own stake in the matter.

Elric had assumed Refa's brief stay would include a meeting with the Centauri ambassador, though he had thought that for Refa, one of the most powerful men outside the royal family, the visit would be pro forma, Londo barely worthy of his attention.

But at that meeting, Refa had revealed that Londo had been behind the attack on Quadrant 37 and the death of ten thousand Narns. How Londo had accomplished it, and with what hidden forces, Refa did not know, and Refa very much wanted to know. But Londo would not tell him.

The answer was obvious enough. Londo had sold his soul to the Shadows so that the Narns would be crushed, and the Centauri would regain dominance within the galaxy. Londo could not stomach the fact that the Narns, once slaves of the Centauri, had not only gained their freedom but built themselves into a power greater than their former masters.

The Centauri, in contrast, were in decline. They had not the will nor the resources to fight the growing Narn threat. Instead of accepting the loss of a few Centauri colonies, or motivating his own people to fight, Londo took the easy way, the way that would add most to his own personal glory. He was much more ruthless and power hungry than Muirne had painted him.

Perhaps, she had argued, Londo hadn't fully understood what he had done. Yet thousands had died. He must understand. And now he formed an agreement with Refa to replace the aged emperor, upon his death, with their own puppet. His ambitions were growing by the moment. He had no thought for consequences, no thought for the price that must be paid for his actions, nor who would pay it. His recklessness infuriated Elric.

If not for Londo and those like him, the Shadows would be forced into the light, forced to fight their own war. If not for those like Londo, the Shadows would have been seen long ago for what they were, bearers of chaos and death, and they would have been defeated. If not for those like Londo, the mages would not be compelled to give up everything and flee. Londo allied himself with the Shadows for the most fleeting, petty rewards. The mages refused to ally themselves with the Shadows, even though that refusal would likely lead to their complete destruction.

In the meantime, however, Londo would serve his purposes perfectly, would be his puppet as well as the Shadows', though it provided little comfort. Elric only wished his plan included Londo's death.

With the discipline of long practice, he suppressed his anger. The transport had docked, and the passengers began to leave. The throbbing in his head was growing stronger – the phantom pain of the chrysalis, and the planet, that had once been part of him. It would soon grow acute. He must rest again, already. But there was no time.

Near the rear of the passenger compartment, Muirne pulled her small bag out from beneath her seat. As she stood, she swayed slightly, and Beel steadied her.

When selecting those who would accompany him and Ing-Radi, Elric had tried to choose not only those he felt he could trust, but those who were older, weaker. Perhaps Kell could have devised a stratagem by which they might deceive the Shadows without losing any life. Elric had failed to conceive such a plan. He believed some, at least, would have to be sacrificed, so that the rest could be saved. He pressed his hand briefly to the decorative pattern that adorned the front of his robe. He had worn the robe not only to draw attention, but also to serve as his own private tribute to Isabelle. She had sacrificed herself so that Galen could live. Many of them would now have to follow her example. Yet, he hoped, not all.

To ensure that they accomplished their task, he had been obliged to take a handful of those who remained young and strong. He had determined to do everything in his power to spare them.

Above all, though, their deception must be successful, so that the main body of the mages could escape unmolested to the hiding place. Yet even with success, the mages would no longer be what they had once been. They were abandoning their commitment to the Code. They were fighting not for good, but for themselves. They were fleeing, leaving the rest of the beings in the galaxy to death and chaos. Elric could not imagine how they could recite the words of the Code after that. Eventually, their time would pass. Once the last of them died, their history, their Code, their deeds, their discoveries would die with them.

They kept their secrets, perhaps, too well.

Muirne and Beel approached, and he straightened, wanting to reveal no sign of weakness. They proceeded together toward the hatch with swift, authoritative steps, and most moved out of their way.

As they emerged into the busy customs area and waited to be cleared by security, Refa passed by him. The Centauri lord was boarding his personal transport. Everything was falling into place for the next step in Elric's plan: they must plant an idea. That was all.

Beyond the security checkpoint stood Londo and his attaché, Vir. They had just finished saying good-bye to Refa. Londo looked like a peacock in his pretentious pseudo-military garb, with its gaudy gold braiding, epaulettes, and buttonholes, and an ostentatious golden starburst brooch that echoed the mages' ancient influence. Londo's hairline was receding, a great tragedy for a Centauri male, whose status was reflected by his hair. To compensate, his hair was erected in a great fan around his head, higher than Lord Refa's or even the emperor's. Though Londo did not realize it, the hair served as his own personal black halo.

Beside him stood Vir, subservient, his clothes more understated, his crest of hair trimmed shorter. He was a nervous, overweight man who had not yet been tested and so did not yet know who he truly was.

Elric presented his identicard, flicked a probe onto the security guard, and pretended not to notice as Londo and Vir noticed him. Londo's expression revealed that his presence had elicited the desired reaction. Vir said something, and Londo responded. Elric accessed the probe on Vir, which had been planted on his cheek, and received an unflattering profile of Londo.

"–seen one in years," Londo said. His voice carried the thick accent of the northern provinces. "They almost never travel. They don't like to leave their places of power. To see even one of them is a rare thing. To see more than one at a time is considered a very bad omen."

Londo knew of the mages, as Elric had expected and hoped. Londo's superstitious image of them, coupled with his ambition, would be very useful.

Security allowed Elric to pass through. The throbbing in his head was being echoed by his tech, filling his body with the pain of absence. As he waited for Muirne and Beel, he thought of Galen. Galen's was another unaccustomed absence. Before Galen's initiation, they had never been separated, not since Galen had come to live with him. On Soom, he nearly always knew where Galen was, what Galen was doing. Now he had only fears. Galen's task was extremely dangerous, and he had not only the Shadows to fight, but himself.

Elric wished that they could be together. Yet he did not believe they ever would be again. He'd told Galen he hoped to return from this task unharmed, and that was true. But while he might hope it, he did not expect it. His life was required, along with the lives of the others. That knowledge had made his parting from Galen awkward; he hadn't wanted Galen to sense his despair.

Galen, though, must survive. Elric had made it clear to Blaylock that returning without Galen would be unwise. But in truth, he knew that if Galen decided to engineer his own destruction, Blaylock could not stop it. And if the Shadows discovered their activities, neither would escape.

Of course, that was true for all of them.

Muirne and Beel were passed by security, and they continued single file through the customs area as Elric had directed, echoing an image from a famous Centauri painting of three techno-mages arriving to bless the first emperor of the Centauri Republic. They passed by Londo and Vir while completely ignoring them.

"Three," Londo said. "This is definitely not good."

That much, at least, was true.

C
HAPTER 8

Galen followed Blaylock to a table in the ship's lounge. They sat beside the wall, where they could have a good view of the rest of the room.

Galen had barely seen Blaylock for the last eleven days, and they had exchanged few words. They'd traveled as close to the Omega sector on the rim as they dared in their mage ships. Then they'd stopped in an obscure port, ships disguised, and hidden their vessels, switching to public transports. They had taken three different ships under different identities to help mask their origins. The ships, up until this one, had been crowded and poorly constructed, offering unhealthy accommodations and no privacy.

This last ship, though, which would bring them to Tau Omega – the system G'Leel had called Thenothk – was a luxury cruiser. Though Blaylock had not shared his reasoning in selecting the ship, Galen thought he wanted to observe some of the more powerful immigrants to the rim.

Based on the little data the probes on the rim had been able to collect before they'd been destroyed, Thenothk seemed the system with the most activity, members of many different races converging there. On the fourth planet a great city had arisen, millions drawn to this beacon of darkness for their own secret reasons. Whether this planet was also Z'ha'dum, the legendary home of the Shadows, they did not know. But Galen and Blaylock could fit in.

They posed as owner and employee of a company that produced high-tech FTL relays. This gave them an excuse to bring one such relay as a "sample," which would allow them to send a message to Elric or the others if they had critical information they were unable to deliver in person. Considering that the Shadows might be able to intercept their communications, it was to be used under only the direst of circumstances.

In one of the few communications between their ships, Blaylock had directed Galen to allow his hair to grow, had even explained how he could slightly accelerate its growth. Blaylock did not want them to use illusions to disguise themselves once they came close to the rim, since the Shadows might penetrate those illusions. Galen had managed only about one-quarter inch of growth on his scalp, but it was enough that he did not stand out. He wore a plain black sweater and pants, with his black coat always over them. His feeling of cold had intensified since leaving Selic, as if he were suffering from a constant fever.

Blaylock had discarded his black skullcap, leaving his head looking oddly naked. His skull had a striking, sculpted shape, all the more so because Blaylock was so gaunt. His eyebrows had grown in a heavy black, yet he kept his scalp bare. Galen supposed that at his age, baldness would not draw attention. Blaylock wore a dark blue business suit with a dark blue shirt. Although the suit was slightly large for him, he wore the clothes well, as if he had been wearing them for years. He had even added two small gold lapel pins and a heavy gold ring to complete the effect. And he had changed something in his manner, so that he carried himself, somehow, not like a mage, but like a businessman. Galen couldn't figure out what it was.

They took the menu-pads from the holder beside the window and ordered lunch. Discarding his menu in the middle of the table, Blaylock turned his sharp gaze on the other passengers in the lounge. Galen took Blaylock's menu and his own and returned them to the holder. The holder had been turned slightly askew. Galen straightened it.

Blaylock did not seem interested in talking. Reluctantly, Galen pulled the dirty tan scarf from his coat pocket and laid it carefully across his lap, his fingers grazing its complex, textured surface.

Over the last eleven days, he had forced himself to study the files she had sent him as she lay dying. He had not wanted the files, the records of her spells and her research. He had not wanted to look at them. But he had led the Circle to believe he could translate her spell for listening to the Shadows, and that spell was probably the only way to discover their secret plans, to learn whether they believed Elric's deception, and what action they planned to take against him. Yet Galen didn't know if he could translate her conjury; their spell languages were very different. His was the language of equations, hers the language of weaving. Her strong fingers had intertwined, moving in subtle, complex patterns. He could still feel the movement of her hands beneath his.

She had created an odd shorthand to record her spells, the movements that each finger must make, in sequence. The files were filled with bizarre symbols in strange configurations. Galen had gained only the most basic understanding of them. He had managed to translate several of her simpler spells, spells in which she used only one hand, made only a few simple movements. But the more complicated spells using both hands he found impossible to equate to his own language. The spell to listen to the Shadow communications was one of her most complex.

She had recorded some of her spells by another method, in tapestries that had hung on the walls of the apartment she'd shared with Burell. That method of recording would be simpler and more natural, Galen thought, since her spells were so like weaving. If he had some of those tapestries, it would give him another way of understanding her work. All that was left, though, was the scarf. Her gift to him. He knew she had encoded a message for him within it, but he had not yet been able to decipher it. In truth, he did not know if he wanted to decipher it. Yet he felt the scarf held his only hope for translating her more complex spells.