James Enge - Blood of Ambrose

Still, the crow was fond of Morlock. And it was a chance to get out of the city and get some clean food, without this dust and ash all over it. And there was the treaty. The crow irritably plucked the half-sheet of paper up, shook the dust of the city from his wings, and flew away from the wreckage of Genjandro and his dreams, north and west, straight as an arrow to Ambrose.

Then I call this session of the Regency Council to order," Ambrosia said in dry businesslike tones. "I've asked the vocates from the Wardlands to sit with us, and Commander Erl, not just as the King's chief bodyguard but as a man of resource and courage. If any of you can think of someone else who ought to be here, feel free to name him or her."

"Wish Genjandro were here," Wyrth muttered.

"So do I," Ambrosia said clearly. She put her hand to a wrinkled, bloodstained half-sheet of paper that lay on the table before her. "But courtesy of Morlock and his feathered friends, we have Genjandro's last report. It doesn't tell us much, but what's there might be enough."

Morlock stirred at this, and Ambrosia turned toward him with a fierce unhappy smile. "Oh, are you awake there, brother? I thought you might have gone to sleep again."

The Crooked Man looked her in the eye until she looked away, a little embarrassed. "I was going to say that Genjandro's message, with the King's story, tells us what we need to know."

"How fast to run?" Jordel inquired. "I was just thanking God Sustainer for the Wards around the Wardlands."

"They're no defense," Aloe said. "Every wall, material or immaterial, is worthless unless it's guarded by soldiers. And the soldiers are the weak points, against this enemy: they have wills that can be seduced."

"I'll run if I have to," said the King in a low voice. "I'd rather defeat this thing somehow. It's eating the heart of our empire. I don't see that we'll have better luck against it in Sarkunden than we're having here."

Jordel cleared his throat, and said, somewhat nervously, "Well, you touch on a delicate point, Your Majesty. Our realm is a different one, and we need to look to its interests."

"Here it comes," Wyrth said.

Jordel turned to him in surprise. "It?" he said.

"It, sir. Now that the danger is greatest and we most need aid, you discover that you have an urgent appointment in some other part of the world. We are not your allies; you have no unbreakable ties with us either of blood or"-he glanced aside at Aloe-"other fluids. Why should you not go? If-"

"Wyrth," said Morlock, "enough."

"Master Morlock, I am your apprentice. But I am also an independent member of this council. I admit it is an anomalous situation, but I believe it allows me to have my say."

"You aren't," Morlock said bluntly. "You're having Jordel's, and damning him because you put words in his mouth. We've no time for that. We may have hours; we may have less. Shut up and let the Wardlanders speak."

There was a brief silence, and Jordel said, with unusual flatness, "We have sent messages by certain means to our peers in the Graith. We have reason to suppose that they have been intercepted. The Graith must be warned. We flipped coins and Baran lost."

"Or won," Baran differed. "I will carry word to the Graith and return as quickly as I may."

"You'd better take Velox," Morlock said.

"Thanks," Baran rumbled. "Heard about him."

Wyrth was pressing his clenched fists against his forehead. The King looked at him and then at Morlock. Morlock knew that Wyrth was still tormented by the memory of his fear in the grave lands, and he guessed that the King realized it, too. He nodded, shrugged, and waited.

"Vocates," Wyrth blurted.

"It's all right, Wyrtheorn," Aloe said quietly.

Wyrth winced at this use of the intimate form of his name and laughed raggedly. "I hardly think so. You have all deserved better from me. You'll get it another time, God Avenger bear witness."

"Morlock," said Ambrosia impatiently, "this is your hour. It's time for you to speak."

"I intend to go to the Old City and kill the Protector's Shadow."

"See how easy," muttered Wyrth.

"Kill him?" Jordel cried, amazed at the crudity of Morlock's proposal. "Which one of him? Which of the thousands he inhabits? Have we learned nothing about this enemy?"

"On the contrary," Morlock said flatly. "We have learned everything."

"If you mean his name, Morlock," Aloe interposed, "I don't see that it is so very helpful. It's true that he may have been called Inglonor-and even you, madam, can't be sure of that, I believe?"

Ambrosia grunted. "I never met him. I don't believe so. My oldest boy was an insolent little prick, in some ways, but he didn't honor me so far as to introduce his bastards."

"But," Aloe continued, "the nature changes the name. To effect a binding spell upon he-who-was-Inglonor we would need to know more than we doperhaps the names of every consciousness he has ever consumed and made part of himself."

"His name is nothing," Morlock said. "I intend to kill him, not bind him. Look, Jordel," he said, choking off the verbose vocate's protests, "take a piece of string."

"Why, I don't happen to have any string at the moment," Jordel cried.

"He means you to consider an imaginary piece of string," Wyrth explained.

"He might have said so."

"You take the piece of string," Morlock continued, "and you tie one end to your index finger and the other to Baran's index finger. Then, when you choose, you can move Baran's finger."

"Unless he resists, you know. He's awfully strong."

"We will say he is asleep. Or dead."

"Oh, dead, by all means, if you don't mind. That way I shall inherit the family estate."

"This represents the Protector's Shadow and his relationship with the body of someone whose awareness he has consumed. The string is the talic connection between the Protector's awareness and his subject's body. For it to be effective, it must have two ends-the one in the subject and the one in the tal-body nexus of the controlling awareness."

"I assume that, enjoying this experience as I do," Jordel continued calmly, "I kill the rest of the members of this council and attach their fingers to mine with bits of string."

"Plainly."

"Well, this is a gory little thought experiment, I must say. Is it getting anywhere?"

"Jordel: your hand is tired."

"I don't think so, old fellow-I'm quite comfortable."

"The hand with the strings," Morlock prompted.

"Oh! Well, I'll move them to my other hand."

"Do that, won't you? But remember that at any moment, while your hands are tangled up with string, someone might come through the door and lop off your head."

Jordel's eyes crossed and uncrossed. "I begin to see," he said slowly. "You think it would be that difficult to transfer his awareness, along with his control of the bodies whose minds he has eaten, to a new body."

"Even more difficult, Jordel. Your awareness already has a talic connection with your other hand; the Protector's Shadow would have to establish one with his new body. He would have to put the two bodies in talic stranj and transfer his strands of control gradually from the old to the new. He will not do this while there is any danger that his enemies will come upon him while he is preoccupied."

"`In talic stranj,' urk. I wish Noree were here-this isn't my sort of problem."

"Morlock," Aloe said intently, "surely your string-finger example isn't the only possible way the Protector's Shadow could maintain control over his subjects."

"In theory, no. I ran up several multidimensional models in my workshop after I read Genjandro's note. For instance, the central awareness could have been shared among several bodies, some of whom could have served as fallback positions if others failed. Or each body could have been truly intercon- scious with all of the others, with talic strands extending from each of the members to all of the others. There's true immortality, if you want it."