The Trials of Lance Eliot (5 page)

“What happened next?”

“We clung to our last shreds of hope. Then hope failed.”

“Were you attacked by another enemy?”

“We were besieged on three sides, as you know: Tyria to the north, the pirates to the west and the Nomen to the south. There was only one side of the kingdom not under siege, and I felt a morbid premonition that some enemy would attack from the east. I was not so far wrong. I received a report of a shadow over the eastern border.”

“What do you mean?”

“Darkness, Lance Eliot: a preternatural Darkness through which one can hardly see one's hands before one's eyes. Where the Darkness has fallen, forests have withered. Springs and rivers that flowed with water now flow with poison. The few scouts who ventured into the Darkness returned with stories of ghastly visions and hellish noises. It is spreading slowly westward, a blight, an infection.”

“What are you doing to stop it?”

“Nothing,” said Kana. “We do not know what to do.”

I felt sick: literally, physically sick. The city with its beautiful gardens and splendid buildings was a sandcastle before a rising tide, doomed to destruction by savages or pirates or soldiers or the Darkness that withered forests and drove men mad.

My friend, when I began writing this story I resolved to tell it honestly. I can see now that it won't be easy. I've made a lot of mistakes. The worst of them play a part in my story. This is a tale of confession as much as anything.

I wanted to escape. To blazes with Rovenia, to blazes with the innocent people who would die. I wanted to go back to Oxford and forget the whole thing. I would have gladly given anything,
anything
,
to return to Terra in that moment. I was afraid, but my fear isn't the thing of which I'm ashamed.

You see, I had always considered myself a decent bloke. A bit lazy, perhaps; slightly dishonest, maybe; an incurable tippler, certainly; but still the sort of fellow who would shine like polished gold when the world needed me. When the first hint of trouble came, however, the only thing I could think about was my own wretched skin. I saw two choices before me, cowardice and decency—and chose cowardice.

“Kana,” I said, standing. “I want to go back to Terra. Where's Maia? She said she could send me back. I want to go back.”

“Lance Eliot,” said Kana very gently, “please sit down. There is something you must know.”

“What, dash it?” I cried, flinging myself back into my chair.

“Maia does not have enough magic to send you back.”

How can I convey my desolation at these words? I was too devastated to be angry. I could only hold my head in my hands, babbling, “This can't be—send me back—dash it all to blazes—this isn't my home—I don't belong here.”

“Lance Eliot.”

I realized with a shock that Kana was smiling.

“I fear you have misunderstood,” he said. “Forgive me for not speaking clearly. What I meant is that Maia does not have enough magic to send you back
yet
. She exhausted her power when she brought you here, but in a month she will have recovered the strength to return you to Terra.”

“So I'm not stuck here?” I asked, hardly daring to hope.

“Not at all,” said Kana. “You are only waylaid a short while.”

I suddenly felt very, very tired.

Leaning back in my chair, I took several deep breaths and said, “You still haven't answered my question. Why the devil am I here?”

“You needed to know our situation before I could answer that,” said Kana, folding his hands like a statue of the Buddha. “One day a young lady marched into my office and asked to see General Shoukan. I introduced myself and asked how I could be of service. ‘My name is Maia Lufian,' she declared, ‘Vocomancer extraordinaire. I have heard of your Resistance and want to help.'

“I was skeptical. To the best of my knowledge, Vocomancy had died out more than a century before. I told my visitor that her services were not needed and dismissed her. But she did not go. ‘What is your favorite food?' she inquired. I told her to leave, but she stood unmoved and repeated the question. Exasperated, I told her the food I liked most was fresh bread.

“A loaf of bread materialized before my very eyes. ‘Would you like some honey?' she asked, and a pot of honey appeared upon my desk beside the bread. ‘Or some jam?' A jam jar joined the picnic. I was persuaded. Maia Lufian joined our Resistance.”

“But how was she going to help?” I asked. “What did you hope to summon?”

“Not
what
,
Lance Eliot,
but
whom.
Our plan was to summon heroes, men of renown and valor, whose power we might use.”

“So whom did you summon?”

Kana blushed, and his resemblance to the Buddha vanished. He looked more like a schoolboy caught smoking in the loo.

“Maia and I discussed whom we might summon,” he said, hesitating. “I gave her the gift of tongues through my magic so that she might read books from other worlds in search of heroes. She proposed a noble knight from a land called La Mancha.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You—you didn't try to summon Don Quixote.”

Kana said nothing, but his expression was eloquent. I burst into laughter. “Let me guess what happened,” I said when I had recovered my breath. “The great Quixote was a senile fool.”

“Maia sent the man back to La Mancha. Her magic was almost exhausted, but she insisted she was strong enough for a final attempt.”

I no longer felt like laughing. “You tried to summon Lancelot, didn't you?”

“You are correct.”

“But Maia summoned
me
. Not Lancelot. Why did she—wait a moment.” I felt the blood rush from my head as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. “No, you can't be serious.”

“
Lance Eliot
sounds rather like
Lancelot
,
does it not? When she tried to summon the one, the other came instead. You were brought here by mistake.”

All was silent for a moment.

“Are you well?” asked Kana. “You are pale.”

“I'll be fine,” I mumbled. “What will happen to me now?”

“If it is agreeable to you, you will remain in Faurum until Maia has recovered enough magic to send you back to your own world. Tamu Baba has offered you a bedroom in this house and a weekly stipend of five hundred valores. Consider it an unworthy compensation for the inconvenience we have put upon you.”

It's amazing, truly astounding, how quickly a chap can bounce from the depths of despair to the heights of happiness. My wish for a long holiday was granted. I would enjoy a month of comfort, entertainment and good food before returning to Oxford and resuming life where I had left off. As the dangers besetting Rovenia no longer affected me, I'm ashamed to confess, I didn't give them a second thought.

I thanked Kana, yawned and inquired about bed. He led me to a bedroom down the hall and wished me a good night. I returned the wish exuberantly, like a tennis player returning a hard serve, and entered the bedroom. A lamp stood upon a bureau, casting just enough light to make out the dim shapes of a bed and a wardrobe. Too tired to undress, I collapsed onto the bed, burrowed beneath the blankets and fell asleep.

Not for an instant did I suspect I might be poised upon the very brink of an adventure. I wouldn't have slept well if I had.

4

LANCE ELIOT BECOMES A LEGIONARY

I RETURNED TO CONSCIOUSNESS under a mountain of silk sheets and woolen blankets. It took a minute to remember where I was. It took several more to sort through the jumbled memories of the day before and assemble them in proper order. I was in no hurry. At last I summoned my strength and crawled out of bed.

The room was filled with light. Golden cataracts of sunshine poured through the windows and filled the room with drowsy warmth. The bureau and wardrobe were there, gleaming in the sunlight, and a desk and chair beside them. A mirror hung over the desk. I looked into it. A pale face looked back, stubble on its cheeks and shadows under its eyes. I decided a wash and a shave were in order.

A slab of green soap, a razor and a basin of water lay upon the bureau. Though the water was cold, I worked the soap into lather and zealously plied the razor. Upon restoring my resemblance to a respectable human being, I began the search for clean clothes. The wardrobe yielded an astonishing assortment of trousers, socks, silk shirts, cotton underclothes, wool jackets, cloth caps, leather shoes and boots. I selected a set of clothes and changed, leaving my old clothes in a heap on the floor.

I yearned for buttered toast and hot coffee. Sallying forth from my room, I descended a flight of stairs and found myself in the parlor. A grandfather clock stood against the wall. I stared at it for a moment in surprise. Though it felt much later, it was only eight o'clock.

I walked to the window and looked out into the garden. The air was fresh and clean. Bees moseyed through the flowerbeds. I might have stood there a long time, elbows on the windowsill, if I hadn't heard someone cough. I started and whirled around. The sound was exactly like the Skeleton's cough. For a second I felt a wild fear that my professor had followed me to Gea.

The butler with the bushy eyebrows stood before me.

“Breakfast is served, sir.”

We entered the dining room to a glorious sight. A long table was laden with enough food for a dozen men: bread and fruit and boiled eggs and shapeless white things that turned out to be rice dumplings. At the end of the table were a pot of black coffee crowned with white steam and a black gentleman crowned with white hair. He smiled as I entered.

“Good morning,” he said in a smooth, slow voice. “Please sit down and eat.”

Taking a seat next to the old gentleman, I leaned forward to smell the coffee. Its fragrance knocked me back into the chair. “What in Tartarus is this stuff?” I choked.

“Blackroot,” he said placidly. “No better way to start the day than a cup of blackroot.”

“Not coffee?”

“Coffee? In all my years I've never heard of anything by that name.”

I was distraught. A month was a long time to go without coffee. On the other hand, I seldom enjoyed such excellent food for breakfast. My breakfasts in Oxford generally consisted of cold porridge. Somewhat consoled, I began to butter a piece of bread. “I'm Lance Eliot,” I said, reaching for the jam jar.

“I know,” said the old gentleman. “Kana told me about you. I am Tamu Baba, the benefactor of his Resistance.”

I was reminded of the horrors threatening Rovenia and suppressed a shudder. “I'm glad to meet you,” I said.

“I am honored to have you in my home.” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. Roderick, bring the pouch on the front table.”

The butler vanished like a mist and reappeared with a cloth bag.

“Give it to our guest,” instructed Tamu. “Your allowance,” he said as the butler placed the heavy pouch in my hands. “To be spent at your convenience.”

I thanked him and set it next to the dumplings.

“You are free to do as you will,” he said. “There are only a few conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Kana asked me to inform you that murder, theft, arson, rape, assault, Necromancy, kidnapping, public indecency and destruction of property are forbidden by the laws of the city.”

“I should hope so. Does he think I'm liable to do any of these things?”

“Not in the least. We simply don't want you to commit a crime unintentionally. How can we be sure the laws of your world are like our laws?”

“I think rape and murder are universally frowned upon,” I said. “I won't commit any crimes. You have my word.”

My word was enough for the old gentleman, and conversation turned to other things. I learned that his wife had died years before of an unstoppable malignancy (which I presumed to be cancer) and his daughter had been killed in a Nomen raid soon after. “Now it's just me and my servants,” he said. “I'm fond of them, you know, but they aren't family.”