Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Fate

A shadow passed overhead. Had Favored returned? No - and it wasn’t one shadow, either, it was a bunch of them. Not a giant bird, but a flock of small ones?

Screeching madly, the birds dove on him. Beaks and claws closed on every available edge of clothing, on feet, hands, hair, on -

Karlini’s stomach flipped again as his rush toward the surface abruptly paused. He was rising - no, actually he wasn’t, he was still falling, but more slowly and under some semblance of control. Feathers were drifting down past his nose, the sound of frenzied flapping surrounded him, wings beat his back and thrust gusts of winds along his side - but he was still falling. They were only small birds, after all; they were... seagulls?

Of course, Karlini thought, totally dazed, what else? An exhausted bird peeled free and soared off in a long glide, then another nosed over at his feet and dropped head-first toward the water. The squid was off to the side now and up ahead, waving its tentacles regally at the Imperial grandstand, where from the look of things no one was paying the slightest attention. “Can we make shore?” Karlini asked, but just at that moment a particularly loud squawk blared at him from about six inches overhead, and with a chorus of relieved wails the flock of seagulls let him go.

They had released raggedly. Karlini found himself turning a deranged mid-air cartwheel, legs and arms sprawled in every direction, but he was barely becoming aware of the situation when he hit the surface of the water and went through in a shower of foam.

Something squishy went “ooph” beneath Svin’s feet as he landed in the bottom of the ice crater. Svin crouched low, dagger at the ready, and peered through the haze of pulverized ice. “You are Dortonn of the north?” Svin demanded.

The man immobilized beneath him opened a bleary eye and gazed up past his sagging eyelid. “Who are you?” he wheezed. Then he made a hollow rattly sound deep in his throat. “But I don’t care. Just end it.”

Truly Dortonn was battered. The exploding ring and the clinging fire had done their work, and indeed the fire was still licking at one charred arm and a bare section of chest. It would clearly be the honorable thing to dispatch this creature from his misery.

But would it also be the wisest? If Svin thought he’d learned anything, it was not to waste the possibility of information about what really might be happening. Then there was the question of the current tactical situation to consider, too. “Can you stop this iceberg?” Svin said.

The eye goggled at him as though he was out of his mind. “My powers are drained,” Dortonn stated. “I am drained.”

“That is no excuse,” Svin told him. Suddenly he was standing not on Dortonn’s belly but at his side, and almost in the same blurred instant Dortonn had been slung over his shoulder with one of Svin’s large hands wrapped securely around his neck. As Svin crouched again and sprang forcefully up the side of the crater, he noted that Dortonn had found enough strength for a weak wail... and then they had cleared the crater’s lip. The frost cloud had settled enough to see the looming structure ahead. “You can still become even less comfortable,” Svin suggested.

Dortonn’s eye rolled, absorbed the scene, and abruptly widened. The hand that had not worn the ring, which was still significantly more intact than the other contorted claw, began gesturing. A strange word bubbled in his throat.

I gradually became aware that I was gradually becoming aware. Thinking straight was still a highly problematic proposition since my head still felt like someone with a large lead mallet was trying to play it like a bell, in pace with each heartbeat, but I wasn’t about to complain. With his last nasty move, Iskendarian had made it sound as though he was doing away with me for good. The fact that he’d pulled his punch, or maybe that I’d proved a little more tenacious than he’d allowed for, was enough to hang onto for the moment. I wasn’t about to ask him about it either, especially since he was showing no sign he realized I was still in the vicinity.

Of course, it wasn’t surprising my head felt like it was going to explode; it had to be pretty crowded with two of us in there. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure it was our head that was hurting, per se. I couldn’t actually feel the rest of our body, and sight and hearing were pretty erratic too. On the whole, it seemed as though I’d been wadded up and shoved away in the attic.

Not that I was thinking of just giving up and going to sleep. No, I would have been happy to do something about the situation, except I couldn’t think of what. I couldn’t hit him over the head; he was controlling our arms. I couldn’t knock him over, unless I could pull off some kind of commando attack on our center of balance and rely on him to trip. I didn’t even seem to be able to give him back the headache he’d given me.

I wasn’t overhearing any of his thoughts, either. From the fact that he wasn’t trying to eradicate me again I hoped that also meant he couldn’t detect mine. Even if I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, though, he was obviously up to something. He was striding down a winding street, then turning a corner without hesitation, then charging straight through an intersection with only the barest glance at the road sign. The traffic seemed surprisingly sparse. I was wondering where everyone had gone, until it occurred to me that perhaps I had been unconscious for a day or two before Iskendarian had roused me, and that everyone might already be down at the waterfront for the Running of the Squids.

I decided to concentrate harder; maybe I could pick up his thoughts if I really pushed myself at them. It might have been my imagination, but it occurred to me that he was considering how to go about taking the gods up on their offer to make us their chief if we got rid of Max. Of course, it could have been my imagination, but it was also totally consistent with what I’d seen of Iskendarian’s personality so far.

As I concentrated, though, I might not have only been receiving emanations from Iskendarian. I had enough of a rapport with Monoch to know he was up to something, too. What it was I couldn’t tell; that obviously was the story of my day. Monoch was probably transferring his allegiance to the new boss, I wouldn’t be surprised. Monoch seemed to be as unaware of me as Iskendarian. If he was throwing in with Iskendarian, that was undoubtedly just as well.

We had entered another cobblestoned street lined with small warehouses and strange thaumaturgical signs, and Iskendarian had started looking at the numbers on the buildings, when I suddenly realized where we were. I hadn’t been there myself but I knew the address - and sure enough, that was it. His hand made a few quick gestures, something sparkling lit up the locks, and then they all clicked simultaneously as their bolts withdrew. He pushed open the door and stepped in.

The lamps and wizard lights were dark and gloom hung over the interior. At the end of a short wall was an open two-story room. Iskendarian had his head cocked to the side, clearly listening with more than ears. Then he stepped ahead, apparently satisfied, and we were standing in the Karlini workroom.

Another gesture brought up the hanging wizard lights. “Where would she be keeping them?” Iskendarian muttered, gazing around the room. “Surely not in plain sight? But what is this?” He strode across to a work table strewn with old papers, next to a bookcase overflowing with more. I felt him smile. “Ah!” he said, and started quickly gathering them up.

He stopped for a moment, gazing at the top sheet in his hand. “Good, good, exactly as I’d hoped,” he muttered, and as he said this I realized I understood what was happening. Iskendarian hadn’t been certain all his memory and skills would survive his hibernation so he’d written out the story of his life and plans, and he’d left himself instructions.