Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (24 page)

“No.  That would have made me same as any other
fledgling mage, wouldn’t it?  What made me such a sweet find to a cunning
lizard like him was my current state back then.  A sleeping mage talent, about
average in strength, never before disturbed in any way.  A perfect tool for one
of his kind.”

“Kind?  He’s a gods damned harvester?”  The reasons
behind this Red Man’s desire to track down obsidian fragments took on new,
sinister dimensions.

“I’m not so great a fool as to take up with their ilk,
boy,” Rail shot back.  “I meant his people.  I’d never heard of them before Red
walked up to me in Spirratta.  I haven’t learned much from him over the years,
either, except they call themselves
eul’kkandr
.”

“That’s the old language,” Marik identified at once. 
“Like Vallan’zul.  Except I don’t know what either means.”

“It doesn’t matter much.”

“Only to the extent that wherever he comes from, it’s
from a place where his people still remember the old language.  He can’t be
Galemaran, or Tullainian, or from Nolier.  Their histories must be filled with
the things we’ve forgotten.”

Rail nodded, his lips fastened to the gin glass.  “He knows
a copping lot, that’s no bet.  He’d been chasing Xenos for awhile, and not
having much luck at it.  From the things that snake was about, Red guessed the
fragment Xenos held was starting to cause blacker trouble by the day.”

“Like what?  I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“Can’t say for certain.  There’s no telling what sort
of blow-out craziness might happen when a fragment is at the root.  It’s never
predictable, what ends up happening.  This time it was making Xenos into a
bloodthirsty power slut.

“I came into it because it had reached the point where
Red decided he needed a
kkan’edom
to help him out.  Before you ask, I do
know what that one means.  In a general sense, anyway. 
Edom
means
servant, or a special type of servant.  Sort of like a personal bodyguard or
trusted agent. 
Kkan
refers to the
eul’kkandr
, Red’s people. 
Anything belonging to them starts with
kkan
.”

“A…a servant who works for this
eul
…this,
whatever people?  I don’t like to think of you as
belonging
to anyone! 
It sounds like slavery.”

“At times I’ve wondered at that.  But as Red loves
reminding me, I chose to accompany him and take up the mantel.  However many
nuggets he keeps giving me as payment, it seems rather shallow at this point.”

Suspicious, Marik asked, “How many has he given you so
far?”

“I think we’re up to fifteen.  I’ve spent three, sent
the rest on ahead.”

“Mother only ever received the first four.”

Rail blinked.  “Bastards,” he swore.  “Never trust a
Rubian!  What other race would have invented tools for removing and replacing
wax seals secretly?”

A brownish-gold terrier with thick locks of fur was
pulled from the pit, having successfully killed its fifteen rats under the
three minutes set by Shaw.  Next, a familiar breed was hoisted onto the
scales.  Marik had never learned the name.  Its body was mostly black except
for the squared head which bore a brown muzzle.  The huge animal must tip the
weights at fifty pounds easy, he believed, especially after he had struggled in
a death battle against one in the pouring rain.

“It can’t be so simple,” Marik resumed.  “The old
words never were so easy to translate as that.”

“Of course.  There are whole other dimensions to it. 
What it comes down to is that the
eul’kkandr
have long mastered ways to
take a raw, unawakened talent and sculpt it to their purposes.  As long as it
was still dormant, Red was able to remake it to fit his need.  He taught me
fighting abilities only a
kkan’edom
can make use of by blending his
magical nature to his fighting spirit.  Different
eul’kkandr
have had
their
kkan’edom
take different approaches, but since the beginning, the
kkan’edom
have always been warriors before mages.  Magic, in the traditional sense, is of
little use to the
eul’kkandr
since…well, for various reasons.  They
prefer solid fighters, which made me an especially juicy tidbit.”

The new dog’s owner had to hold the beast to his chest
since it was too heavy to suspend over the pit’s floor.  He had requested
thirty of Shaw’s best.  Given the size the monster canine commanded, Shaw cut the
time from six minutes to five in order to give it a handicap and make the
outcome harder to predict.

Marik considered the implications.  Whatever had been
done to his father’s talent had altered it.  This, by the accounting, allowed
Rail to perform any number of intense combat techniques.  Taking the
custom-forged sword into the equation, which surely meant one of those
techniques was similar to Marik’s strength working, the
kkan’edom
fighting abilities must make them awesome forces on the battlefield.  What if
strength enhancement were only the beginning?

On the other hand…there was Rail’s obvious state.  He
had looked unwell when Marik first scryed him over a year ago.  Sitting on the
stool, he looked much worse.  Whatever the benefits, the sheer toll being a
kkan’edom
took on the body must be staggering.  And that might be a natural consequence
of having his talent twisted.  Rail might suffer equally as much whether or not
he ever used those supposed techniques.

How similar were his and Rail’s techniques in truth? 
The advanced image training that Marik had learned from Sennet had, in
actuality, originated from his father, and at a point after Rail had taken up
with the Red Man.  He pressed Rail for the details of exactly what he did when
he needed to act as a
kkan’edom
.

Rail was hesitant.  He believed this to be an area
well within the realm he wished to protect his son from.  Marik found it easier
to keep pressing him if he kept his eyes watching the ratting match.  When
scant details at last came, the first question had a surprisingly clear answer.

Though similar in nature, the two techniques were very
different.  Marik fueled his by using his talent as a link to provide outside
energy to the channel network within his muscles.  Rail, though boosting his
muscles in a like fashion, had no such link to the etheric planes.  His energy
source sprang solely from what life energy his body naturally produced.

At first that seemed a detriment.  Later, Marik saw
that it might be absolutely necessary in certain cases.  An outside source
would interfere with the bizarre twisting which the mage talent was being put
to use.  Marik shelved that in a rear mental corner.  There would be time
enough to pursue further information on that later.  Besides, Rail had grown increasingly
resistant.

The conversation also confirmed a fact Marik had long
suspected.  Rail mentioned that the average human only used about twenty-five
percent of his natural strength in his daily life.  Normal people could only
call on their full strength in moments of incredible need.  A mother could hurl
a toppled wagon off her trapped child, or a man could shift boulders to rescue
a friend trapped by a landslide.  Later, they would suffer from tremendous
physical shock and adrenaline poisoning, paying the price for their superhuman
feat.

Marik’s strength normally increased by roughly three
times when he used his strength working.  If he completely flooded his
channels, he could goose it up to around a factor of four.  He had always known
that the stronger he was in an ordinary state, the stronger he could become
using the strength working.  At last he understood the entire truth of it.

The strength working did not, in fact, grant him any
additional strength.  It only enabled him to fully tap into the strength he
already possessed without sending his body into reaction shock.

While a white terrier shredded rats to the
encouragement of its owner, Marik returned to the path Rail had attempted to
lead him down before.  Rail related how the chase had driven Xenos across the
sea, though he still refused to discuss how that had been possible, to the
forgotten caverns of the Earth God’s ancient temple, to his stealing a position
as a councilor beside the Arronathian king, to his apparent obsession with
returning to Merinor.

“That’s what I’d give two harems and a sack full of
dreams to know,” Rail replied when Marik asked what Xenos could possible want
so badly.  “Could be about damned near anything, as long as it made him
stronger.”

“If he’s resurrected an old faith enough to have
followers and if he  sacrifices people every few days, then he’s got all the
power he needs.  Or could use.  The harvest in life energies must be fantastic
if he’s keeping it all for himself.”

“Too many assumptions, boy.  Don’t leave out good
old-fashioned human nature.  You’ve seen men obsess over things that meant
nothing, simply because at one time it
used
to mean a good piece.  Could
be he’s still dreaming about taking the filly to bed who lived next door in his
village.”

“I doubt a harvester would be concerned about that. 
But since he’s the real reason the Arronaths are invading, I need to find out
what his ultimate goal is, if I can.  I have to present my ideas to the council
soon.  Knowing the enemy’s objective could be a key element to jamming a stick
in their spokes.”

Rail began to chuckle softly under his breath, which
had grown weary.  “I’m still struggling to get a handle on that particular
coach.”

“I didn’t ask to ride in it,” Marik grumped.  “They
shoved me headfirst through the door.”

“Whatever the cause, don’t worry too much.  If I have
my way, Xenos will be producing a whole generation of fat worms before he can
kick up any new troubles.”

“He’s caused trouble enough!  With Nolier acting up,
we can’t afford frontlines on both sides.  Why didn’t this
eul
-whatsit
kill him when you had the chance, before he got too strong for you to fight
directly?”

“Because Red has a past, and it weighs heavily on his
shoulders.  Don’t let my jilly-bitching put you off doing a proper job of things,
son.  Remember, anything worth doing is worth doing the best way you can.”

“I know.  I’ve always remembered that.”  Marik
suddenly felt insanely weary himself.  He might have been tempted to ask Shaw
if any rooms were available…except the smell of hot rat’s blood must saturate
the entire building.  The walk back to the palace through the evening air would
clear his nose enough that he could sleep.

Before he left for the night, he asked Rail one last
question that had been growing steadily in his mind.  “Why did it happen in the
first place?  A god going mad.”

Rail’s eyes had reddened.  Marik suspected he had
consumed twice as much gin as he usually did in a single night since taking up
residence in the Queen’s Head.  “To put it simply, the Earth God was an opium
addict.”

“Come again?”  He knew he could not have heard that
correctly.

“The God of Earth.  Sounds nice, don’t it?  Farmers
used to pray to Him the most.  They would bury fish in the burrows alongside
the seeds they planted since the decomposing flesh made for good, healthy
plants, not to mention the lingering life energy in the bodies would also seep
into the soil.  Then you have battlefields.  All that fresh energy leeching
into the dirt.  You’ve seen it.

“Anything that affected the dirt would eventually
affect Him too.  He had the faith and the prayers of His followers to sustain
Him, keep Him strong.  But on top of it, the blood and life force from wars
kept seeping into Him through the soil.  Finally reached the point where He
liked the taste of that better than what His followers offered Him through
their faith.  Once you gain a taste for power, nothing else ever satisfies you
the same way.  Opium users always need to get the next dose.  The Earth God
finally got to where all He ever wanted was more of the sweet power feeding
into Him through the soil men fought and died on.”

And that, Marik concluded, proved that nothing in
creation was infallible.  Even gods.  Which made the world a much scarier place
to be than he had ever believed possible.

On the walk back to the palace he realized he had
never thought to ask what the Earth God’s name had been.  Not that it
mattered.  He had learned far more from his father than from all the men in
Trask’s camp combined.  A minor portion would be useful for the presentation to
the council.  Everything else was of importance only to him.

The twisting of an unborn mage talent…it made his
spine crawl.  True, it granted the sort of techniques he actually valued as an
elite warrior, but was the price worth it?  Would this Red Man’s dawdling in a
years-long quest finally burn his father out, ruining his body until it killed
him?

Still so many questions that only occurred when he
slowed down enough to think them through.  What would Xenos do with the
religion he had resurrected?  Keep on with his private blood-services
indefinitely, or push his followers to greater evils?  He would make notes on
the most important questions in his room as soon as he returned so that
tomorrow night, when he returned to the Queen’s Head to share dinner with Rail,
he would not forget a single one.