A Game of Universe (23 page)

My body tried to move, to stand from the tomb, but it was too late. It decided to never move for me again. It ached to even think about it.

“Come, we must see to your wounds.” He placed his arm under my shoulder then practically carried me though the corridor of the dead.

I wanted to tell him to take me to the
Grail Angel.
There were blue shields there, my only chance to live, and Virginia. But shadows filled my mind, and only the faces of the dead remained, chiseled upon their marble tombs, staring at me.

I struggled to remain awake. The loss of blood and the shock of Osrick’s memories blending with mine made me, at best, bewildered. My vision blurred and my sense of direction vanished. Noises assailed my ears. There were voices, the clash of metal on metal, and an explosion. Somewhere along the way I collapsed.

I returned to caresses and warmth. A moist cloth pressed to my forehead. I awoke and found myself buried under three layers of blankets. Directly above me, draped over the canopy of the bed, was an embroidered rose with angels hovering about its petals like so many insects. Queen Isadora sat by my side.

“Rest, Prince Germain,” she said as she wrung the cloth out in a basin. “You have done what we thought no man could do: kill a ghost.”

I knew this woman, and I hated her.

She and her adviser had concocted the plan to marry her daughter to the alchemist prince and unify their two realms. The Queen personally saw to it that I, or rather Osrick, had been murdered while he prayed in the castle’s chapel. Her adviser was not here, however. He was the only one to escape the planet and the Grail’s curse. I thought that curious.

Throwing the furs aside, I noticed my left hand and right arm were crisscrossed with scar tissue.

The Queen offered me a white silk shirt with lace cuffs and black pearl buttons. I took it and slipped it over my head.

“When the ambassador brought you to us,” she explained, “your limb was cut to the bone. We are afraid our healing abilities are somewhat out of practice. The scarring was unavoidable.”

“No need to apologize for saving my life,” I replied. Gratitude was a bitter thing in my mouth. How does one thank the woman who killed you?

A flash caught my eye. In the corner, the glass doors of the balcony glowed white, then the castle trembled and dust rained from the ceiling. The light subsided, but outside screams and the report of automatic weapons could be heard.

I rose and opened the doors. Ozone and smoke lingered in the air, and magic, so strong, goose flesh covered me head to foot. On the ramparts of the castle, a hundred knights and noblemen busied themselves winding the cranks of arbalests, securing catapults with thick ropes, while others cast spells that distorted the air with powerful sorceries. We were under siege.

The invaders gathered on the far side of the cavern. I recognized them, soldiers of the Order of the Burning Cross. From this distance, and in their scarlet body armor, they looked like red ants, scrambling about. Each one had a white cross emblazoned upon his chest (which made a good target). There must have been a hundred of them, and more were pouring in.

Those are Sister Olivia’s men
, Fifty-five hissed.
So you can forget any theory about your doubles, assuming they even exist, tipping her off. You think Sister Olivia would listen to one of them? It had to be either Quilp or Virginia who betrayed us. And with Setebos keeping an eye on Quilp, that leaves Virginia by process of elimination. You should have listened to me and iced her when you had the chance.

Why don’t you concentrate on finding us a way out?
I snapped back.

Did Virginia get to the
Grail Angel
unharmed? She would have had to sneak past Sister Olivia’s army. If she hadn’t they would put her through their Inquisition—a consequence of my shortsightedness. I should never have given Celeste control.

The Queen came to my side, placed a warm hand on my arm, and said matter-of-factly, “They are here for you, Prince Germain. They came while we restored your body, demanding both you and something they called the ‘Grail,’ which we assume is the late Sir Osrick’s Cup of Regulus?”

I started to answer, but she held a finger to her lips. “No, there is no need to reply, and no need to worry. We shall not betray the hero who delivered us from our curse.”

A scouting party of six soldiers moved across the cavern using the limestone formations for cover.

Someone on the walls cried, “Release the mist!”

“This shall be most diverting,” the Queen said and dug her nails into my arm.

Upon the ramparts sat an iron cauldron that appeared empty from my vantage. Three muscular knights struggled with it, then tipped it over the edge, and spilled forth a great cloud. This fog was the color of lead and sank quickly. It raced over the moat and across the cavern floor without any notable dispersion, enveloping the first four scouts. I heard strangled screams, the discharge of a rifle, then nothing.

The remaining two scouts backed away and waited.

“They are not very clever, these red knights,” the Queen remarked.

“No,” I said, “not smart. But there will be many more of them, and they will bring great siege machines that can bring down this entire cavern. I would not underestimate them.”

She shrugged indifferently, then pointed to the mist. “Observe.”

The cloud cleared a bit. Within, I saw four white crosses still ablaze on their shiny red armor, but inside, the soldiers’ flesh had been eaten away. Only bleached bones remained.

The scouts crept up to get a better look or perhaps to gather their comrades’ remains.

The remains moved. Bones animated, armor stood, and rifles were fired upon their former allies. The undead grabbed the bodies and dragged them off into the shadows.

“This vapor,” the Queen asked me, “are you familiar with it?”

“I have seen similar enchantments,” I admitted.

“Then you are a wizard. We knew it. Every piece of our prophecy has come true.” She gave me a careful looking over—almost a look of admiration, I’d say, if it weren’t for her calculating eyes. “We have foreseen that a man with pale skin would free us from Osrick’s curse. He is a sorcerer, yet with a mere handful of years’ experience. He is strong, yet divided somehow in his willpower. We know you search for the Cup of Regulus.” She removed the heavy silver chain about her throat. Dangling from it was a primitive figurine the size of my thumb: a man of black stone, titanic genitals, and a gray convoluted crystal, perhaps a moonstone, embedded in his head. “And we know that this will help you find it.”

I knew that little man, and I knew I had held him before. Déjà vu, again. I reached for it, but she pulled away.

“We have foreseen also that you are the one to free our daughter from her curse. Help her, and the amulet is yours.”

Such open manipulation was refreshing.

Watch it,
warned Fifty-five.
This Queen is no fool. That idol probably gives her control of your mind.

“How do you know what I need?”

“We know for we have spent two centuries scrying the future with crystal balls, worn three magic mirrors clean with questions of how we shall be released. We know many of your needs, my prince.” She held the talisman up to the candlelight and the crystal in its head glowed warm and red. “When we were younger, and dared such things, we summoned an angel of fire to bring us this. Within is a spirit that once, and only once, heals the mind. It may retrieve something that has been lost, one’s wits or one’s memory.”

“And that will help me find what I seek?”

“We have divined that you shall require it.”

Fifty-five remarked:
Next she’ll try and sell you some land. Tell her to forget it and let’s get out of here.

She tells the truth,
the psychologist said,
or what she believes is the truth.

“Very well,” I sighed, “let us say for the moment that I require your charm. Have not I broken Osrick’s curse? You are free to leave the castle.”

“We are free, yes. But the late Sir Osrick placed a special enchantment upon my daughter with the evil powers of that chalice.”

I remembered. I, Osrick, made her plague real, so real that one touch of her flesh would cause fever, pustulant boils, then madness and death in a matter of seconds. There was only one way to remove his curse. The Princess Lilian had to marry again, and that marriage had to be
consummated.
Therein lay the paradox. Any man to touch her would die, yet she needed to be touched in the most intimate manner.

I laughed. It was inappropriate, but the situation struck me as humorous. Perhaps it was Osrick that thought it funny. “That is why you tested my strength,” I said. “You had to know if I would endure her fatal embrace.”

“Then you know how she is to be cured?”

“I know everything Osrick knew,” I said and let the implication of that hang between us a moment.

She took one step back.

A pricking sensation touched my face and hands, static electricity that emanated from the Queen, magic. If I had the ocular enhancer up, I might have seen what enchantment protected her, but I dared not release the mnemonics. She might mistake my intentions as hostile.

“Consider your position wisely, Prince Germain. You are surrounded by enemies, with only the hospitality of the Bren to protect you.”

“True,” I replied then walked back to the bed, and sat to diffuse the tension. “But you have only offered me one death in place of another. Perhaps we can compromise.”

“Compromise?” She rolled the word about in her mouth and considered.

“I propose that you let me find the Cup of Regulus. When I do, I shall return with it and undo Osrick’s magic.”

It was her turn to laugh, and it sounded like tiny bells, charming. “And how would we know you would return?”

“I give you my word,” I said. That wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but as I spoke it, I realized my word did indeed have value. I knew that I would keep my promise once given. I was honor bound to do so. More specifically, Sir Osrick was honor bound, but where he stopped and I started in my thoughts was indistinguishable.

The Queen gave me a nonchalant smile. “We have a better idea, my wise prince. We both know that you will not be tricked into touching Lilian, and yet, we have divined that you are the one to cure her. What we propose is that you and she be married. Afterward, you may together continue upon your quest for the cup.”

“The princess is married,” I pointed out, “to the alchemist prince.”

The Queen continued to smile and said, “The King’s fish have been well fed this evening. The Princess Lilian is in mourning.”

“I see.”

It was bad enough with that pilot of yours,
cried Fifty- five.
Now you’re going to drag a child along?

Silence, knave,
the Osrick part of me thundered back.

Marry Lilian? It was what I had waited for all these years, wasn’t it? No, it was what Osrick wanted. He loved her, loved her so that he risked his life a hundred times for her. I recalled a moonlit garden, the scent of night-blooming turquoise roses, and a long dead promise. She kissed us there, a small thing, but the recollection was as fresh as if it had been yesterday. We swore our undying love to one another, though I was certain this was not what they had in mind.

On the other hand, Fifty-five was right. I couldn’t bring the girl with me. All I wanted to do was get out of here, find the Grail, and save my own precious skin. But to leave her alone here, cursed, was more than I could bear.

And what of Virginia? We had unresolved business. I couldn’t believe she betrayed me to Sister Olivia, no matter what Fifty-five said.

The most pressing issue, however, was the Grail. I had to find it to live, and more immediately, I had to escape this cavern to continue my search. How? There’d be no sneaking past a legion of trained soldiers.

Another explosion rumbled outside. The glass in the balcony doors flared brilliant and the amulet in the Queen’s hand reflected the flashes from the battlefield. The little man was tangled in the silver chain, trapped just as I was. What did he have to do with me finding the Grail? He’d restore a single memory, or so the Queen claimed. What use was that to me? A memory?

A memory! I realized then how I’d use her talisman to escape. A memory, for me, was more than a simple recollection. There were entire people I had forgotten—the souls I stole with the borrowing ritual—and the mnemonic lore they knew.

“You have yourself a deal,” I told her, “and a new son-in-law.”

16

Q
ueen Isadora insisted on a formal wedding. It didn’t matter that her castle was under siege. She told me, “A princess must not hop over a broom like some farmer’s daughter,” and the discussion was over. Since she held the talisman, my means of escape, I went along with it.

The royal tailors fitted me with a doublet, heavy with brocade, that clumsy sword of the ambassador’s, and boots with curled toes. They attached double lace cuffs, and sewed on badges of honor for battles I never fought. They assured me that I was quite a heroic figure and wheeled in a full-length mirror to prove it. I looked like Hamlet dipped in glitter.

The fellow scrutinizing me from the other side of the glass was handsome: straight posture, square shoulders, and piercing eyes. Yes, he was heroic; yet, there was a shiftiness about him, some villainous quality I couldn’t pin down. My face had been altered so many times to keep my enemies guessing that the one I wore now was unrecognizable.

My helpers, satisfied with my apparel, left.

I loosened the doublet, exhaled, and scratched under the armor beneath. The royal tailors threw a fit when I insisted on wearing it under their creation. They suggested, firmly, that it looked silly and bulged in all the wrong places. I wore it anyway. The Queen might be able to ignore the army massing at her front door. I couldn’t.

I rubbed the rose tattoo on my right hand to warm the spray-on electronics. The dew on its petals twinkled, and I whispered into them:
“Grail Angel,
come in.”

A burst of static answered me, then a choir of voices spoke simultaneously from the transceiver, Quilp’s, Setebos’s, Virginia’s, even my own—and although difficult to sort out, I was certain I heard more than one of each voice.

The signal abruptly cleared, and Quilp shouted, “What in blazes is going on down there?”

“Quilp, put Virginia on.”

“Isn’t she down there with you?” he asked.

“No. She’s supposed to be up there.”

See?
Fifty-five said.
She joined up with Olivia just like I told you.

Unless the girl was killed,
Celeste added coolly.

Or she never got through Olivia’s lines,
the psychologist remarked.
She could be here still.

“Quilp, check the cavern. She must be there somewhere.”

“Can’t,” he said. “Setebos saw one of those
Whisper-class
ships enter the cave, blasted it, then got us out fast. We’re hiding in the asteroid belt, waiting to hear from you. I would have overridden the stupid AI, but someone locked me out of the command structure. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you buddy?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ve got more good news for you. While we’ve been drifting here, twenty ships have gone down that hole: destroyers, personnel carriers, a mining tug, and they’re still coming. You’re in a lot of trouble.” In a whisper he added, “And there were two other
Grail Angels
out here, drifting like us, hiding. They gave me the creeps, but they’re gone now.”

“Setebos,” I asked, “are you listening?”

The petals in my rose tattoo darkened and withered. The biopolymer hadn’t much life left. “Of course, Master. How may I serve you?”

“I find it distressing that you left me here.”

“Accept my profuse apologies,” Setebos answered with a self-confidence that surprised me. “I monitored communications, as instructed, and intercepted multiple coded transmissions in the vicinity. I surmised there was a fleet nearby and that it was prudent to escape. Did I err?”

The
Grail Angel
had been found without a crew, drifting near Golden City. Had Setebos “erred” with them, too? “No,” I replied. “You did the right thing. Please secure this transmission.”

There was a pause, then, “Done. Triply scrambled and encrypted.”

“Can you confirm Quilp’s sighting of those other
Grail Angels?”

“No, I cannot confirm Mister Quilp’s claim. I saw nothing. He is however in a chemically-altered state, and irrational. Perhaps this explains his unusual statement.”

“Very well, since you moved yourself, I assume you can pilot the ship?”

“Yes, Master, but I am not licensed.”

“Licensed or not, proceed immediately to Earth.” I gave Setebos the Corporate security code so he could land, then said, “And tell Quilp to meet me at my flat.”

“You desire us to leave?” Setebos inquired. “Master, please allow me to attempt—”

“—I have another means to get to Earth,” I told Setebos. “With any luck, I shall be there when you arrive. Now get going.”

“And madam captain?” Setebos asked. “Will she be accompanying you?”

“No,” I answered. “I don’t think she will. Germain out.” I balled my hand into a fist, and closed the channel.

So, you do have a way out,
Fifty-five said.
Tell me.

After that stunt you pulled with Virginia, you’re lucky I’m even talking to you.

Come on junior, that’s water under the bridge.

Is it?

Where was Virginia? Had Celeste sent her straight into Sister Olivia’s army? Or was she a spy as Fifty-five thought? I didn’t want to believe either possibility. Maybe she was here, as the psychologist suggested. She was smart. If she saw Olivia’s army, she might wait and hide until it was safe. Osrick wanted to rush out, duel these red knights one by one if need be, and find her. His affections for the princess and mine for Virginia blurred together. I’d have to be careful. The knight’s noble thoughts were more than a distraction; they were dangerous.

You love both women?
the psychologist inquired.
Perhaps we should begin therapy.

An explosion rattled my teeth and cracked the glass of the balcony doors. Peering out, I saw only the blazing white crosses of Sister Olivia’s men, crucifixes upon their breastplates that wavered ghostly under a blanket of the Bren’s fog. There was the tingle of sorcery in the air, whimpers of pain, the crunch of armored treads across the cavern, and from the castle’s battlements, chanting and magic. It was hard to tell who was winning. I released the ocular enhancer.

There were no duplicates of myself, either in the room, or upon the battlefield. There were however, scores of dead soldiers on the cavern floor, and nine Bren floating motionless in the moat. Their regenerative abilities had apparently vanished along with Osrick’s curse. Too bad. Trading a handful of our men for a legion of theirs wasn’t good enough. What did Quilp say? Twenty ships and more coming? It was only a matter of time before Castle Kenobrac fell.

Motion in the mist. The dead lurked in the mushroom forest, dozens of them, fleshless corpses given life after death by the Bren’s necromancy. A stalemate was possible if enough of Sister Olivia’s men could be changed and made to fight for us. We might hold them off indefinitely, or at least until I left.

A squad of living men crept forward through the toadstools and hid themselves poorly there. They watched the castle with luminous scopes, listened with electronic ears, and set up the tripod for a heavy caliber flash repeater. Meanwhile, seven dead men, skeletons in loose red body armor, circled silently behind them—then opened fire.

Bolts of energy zigzagged through the air. Three of the living fell. The others scrambled for cover and shot back. But it took several hits to blast the dead apart, and it only took one to kill a living man. The dead men advanced, and the living men died. More for our side. Finally, the last four soldiers made a panicked dash back to their base camp. They got away.

Our fleshless men grabbed their fallen comrades, and dragged them back to the castle, smiling all the way.

In the back of the cavern a flaming cross appeared. I squinted and saw a woman carrying a fiery crucifix in both hands. She strode forward confidently; Sister Olivia took the battlefield.

She had powers. I had read the Corporation’s files on her. Some said she was a witch, and others claimed she was a mutant, or maybe she really was the hand of God. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. All I knew was that she was dangerous, and I found myself wishing for a rifle.

Sister Olivia raised her crucifix and sang, “
Nil posse creari de nilo.”
The flames burned brilliant and dissolved the mist. Our dead men dropped their cargo and retreated, but they slowed, seemingly snared in the warm illumination. They paused, and turned about to stare into her blessed fire. Sister Olivia shouted, “
Veni, Sancte Spiritus, et emitte coelitus lucis tuae radium!”
Her crucifix flashed and lit the cavern air. The shadows melted.

Our dead men collapsed into piles of bones, inert.

There’s more to worry about,
Fifty-five muttered and directed my gaze to the rear of the cavern. Under floodlights, the frames of artillery stood in various stages of assemblage. One was complete: a mass of gas tanks and injection mechanisms and generators. Osrick might have mistaken it for a mechanical dragon, and he’d not be far off. Inside its mouth, a sphere of compressed tritium was held. A small atomic spark transformed it into a tiny sun—the breath of the dragon.

From the castle’s ramparts came a new chanting, urgent.

Thirteen Bren joined in a circle, and above them, ripples in the air appeared like waves of heat. This distortion collected; it coalesced about the castle, a curtain of scintillating clear vapors. The magic had great power. My skin crawled.

Sister Olivia’s cannon rotated on its treads toward us. Gas hissed into the compression chamber, and some leaked out, leaving streamers of steam as the dragon inhaled.

We had to disable that artillery. The blast of heat would melt the walls of Castle Kenobrac and kill all of us. Osrick had fought by the side of every Bren out there. They were our friends. I could not let them die.

In the shadows, I saw something that made my heart stop. Virginia. She crouched along the cavern wall, and inched her way to the exit. She held her plasma tube in one hand, the chain with her lucky four-leaf clover wound about her wrist. She had changed back into her pilot’s suit, but her hair was still made up from the ball. With the ocular enhancer I saw her face streaked with tears.

I wanted to call out to her. Call her back. But from the opposite end of the cavern the fusion generators that powered the cannon whined as they overloaded.

Virginia stopped and covered her ears.

Within the dragon’s mouth, the compressed tritium turned dark and glossy, like a great black pearl held between its teeth.

The Bren’s curtain of sorcery sparkled with power. The hairs on the back of my neck crawled with static.

The dragon belched.

At the apex of its arc, the sphere blossomed with light and made Sister Olivia’s flaming crucifix seem like a dim match in comparison. The fire filled my vision, pure whiteness, and a perfect silence that enveloped the cavern. I dove for cover.

Through closed eyelids, the light was so intense it turned to pain, lightning along my optic nerve. A great sizzling filled the air, the sound of water thrown into a pan of boiling oil, then darkness.

But no extraordinary flash of heat came, no searing death. I kept my back pressed against the cool stone wall and slowly opened my eyes. The tapestries hadn’t burst into flames, nor had the glass doors melted. Why was I alive?

I peeked around the corner. There was only fog and boiling clouds. This vapor cleared quickly, condensing on the cool stone surfaces, and covering them with drops of dew. The front wall of the castle sagged, melted by the terrific heat, and all the men that had stood upon it were gone. To either side of ground zero, Bren were alive, pouring water upon fires, and carrying their wounded off. The thirteen sorcerers still held hands, and the curtain of magic still shielded the castle in blatant defiance of the first law of thermodynamics. It was weak though, the distortion less than half its former strength and the prickling sensation I sensed hardly an itch. The moat was empty. Where Virginia had been there was only smooth stone, melted and glowing faintly from the heat.

No! Rather it be me dead than her. She had loved me, and I betrayed her. I should not have been weak with Celeste. I should have gone after Virginia the instant I regained control of my body. Instead I chose the Grail. Now I had nothing.

A sickness filled me, a greater sorrow than when I had lost my Master or my brother. It felt as if I had lost her not once, but a dozen times.

Osrick wept for me.

Across the cavern, Sister Olivia’s men charged the castle.

A gentle knock on the door, then the ambassador let himself in. “Prince Germain,” he said, “you must come away from there. It is not safe.”

I set my grief aside and wiped Osrick’s tears from my face.

“Your men fight well,” I said and remained where I was, watching, “but these red knights have inexhaustible numbers. For every one to die, two replace him. I fear we will not be victorious. They will never stop until they have me or the Cup of Regulus.”

I could surrender and end this all. Sister Olivia’s fight was not with the Bren, it was with me. We shared the same predicament: find the Grail or forfeit our souls. She’d kill every person here, tear this rock apart, and sieve through the rubble if she had to.

The ambassador glanced at the carnage. “Yes, it does look dreadful. And the moat! The King’s fish—he will be most disappointed.”

“The fish can go to Hell. What about our comrades? They are dying. What about your life?”

“My life,” the ambassador calmly said. “My life should have ended two hundred years ago. We all have lived too long, my prince, and in truth, we deserve whatever fate befalls us. The only thing that matters now is the Princess Lilian.”

He hesitated, collected his words with care, then looked away before whispering: “I must confess that our princess carries a plague most lethal. Her touch is death itself. In the beginning, it was a ruse, a simple enchantment of the Queen’s, no more dangerous than the common cold. We did it so a prince from a powerful nation might marry her and increase the stature of our tiny country. The King treasured his daughter so. He would have never forced her to wed a man she loved not … unless her life was at stake.”

“You risk the wrath of the Queen by telling me this. Why?”

“The King senses a certain quality in your nature, and I also trust you to be a gentle man. I know you shall find a way to cure her malady with the Cup of Regulus you seek. But I wanted you to appreciate the tragedy that has befallen your bride.”