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THE STORY SO FAR: Staute and company successfully managed to turn Wayar's troopers out of the undersea city of Amphitritium. But the enemy forces took the main prize of the central palace and Poseidon's royal family with them. A true and lasting victory can't be had without re-taking the palace as well, and staving off any immediate counter-attack. Kurellian and various altered folk now pursue the fleeing palace, while Staute and others head for the nearest source of enemy reinforcements in order to staunch the flow.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I recently ran across galleries of fantastic images by Layne Johnson and Jesse van Dijk (far better artists than me!) which look like they could have come out of the virtual gaming realm envisioned in this and related chapters. The Johnson links are Poxnora Illustrations, Concepts & Illustrations, and Sketches. Dijk's are to be found in this Portfolio, and include not only scenes which go well with the gaming environment described below, but some pics which seem to envision the futuristic eras I describe elsewhere in the novel, too. Check them all out for some jaw-dropping artwork! END NOTE.
The city folk had to correct us several times before we got it: that the missing palace was Poseidon's seventh. He apparently had others in existence elsewhere undersea, likewise surrounded by cities.
This portion of the story is sort of second-hand, as I simply wasn�t there.
Kurellian and Phylata filled us in, afterwards.
I've also taken the liberty to expand on some points from other sources; like my own impressions of Kurellian�s and Phylata�s relationship. Most of the account though comes from automatic recording systems incorporated into the battle suit Kurellian was wearing at the time. Riki downloaded it as a matter of routine after the event, for the Archives aboard the Pagnew. We were also able to integrate the battle suit records with communications intercepted on the altered telepathic net, to obtain an amazingly complete story of the siege (so much so it uncomfortably reminds me of the detailed recordings made of me and Ling on Earth).
We had apparently underestimated the rag tag group of godlings and nymphs.
Somehow they were able to call ahead to various sea life in the vicinity of the palace, and orchestrate an attack on both the palace and the arriving Org reinforcements as they came together in the ocean.
The sea based altereds were empowered with some control over the sea life of Vrr.
The palace itself suffered damage from full grown whales and other gargantuan Vrrian creatures directly ramming it, over and over again. Supposedly these attacks were coordinated, with perhaps half a dozen creatures striking simultaneously.
The Org reinforcements lost a few tanks and individuals. But all in all, the greatest effect of the marine life attack was one of shock and surprise upon the enemy forces.
To many of the Org personnel, the attacks of the enraged sea life seemed tinged with the supernatural, as most of the beasts had never seemed sentient enough to act in such a way before.
Only the higher ranks were fully aware of the latitude over the animals given by Wayar to certain factions of the altered on Vrr. But they also knew that most of the altered charged with such control of sea life were now trapped in the palace itself, and stripped of those powers.
After the initial surprise, the Org forces relatively quickly decimated the marine life arrayed against them. So the end results of the attack were that the combined forces of the palace and the Org reinforcements were delayed in proceeding with their plans, and significantly shaken by the surprise attack from such an unexpected quarter.
But even as the Org troops chased away the stragglers of their vanquished enemy, they received word from the land base of our (Riki, Frans, and I's) attack there.
Unsure of the scale or source of the faraway attack, but confident from the easy resolution of the local battle just finished, the commanders of the palace and the relief forces decided to send back to base roughly half of the reinforcements that�d only recently joined with the palace.
This was a boon we hadn�t expected. It effectively cut by a third or more the total force the godlings would encounter at the palace when they arrived.
The palace-based Org personnel worked at readying themselves for the retaking of the city. The reinforcements and their equipment were integrated into the forces already manning the palace.
As the Org controlled palace did little more than sit in place for a short time, the godlings, carrying Kurellian with them, rapidly closed with it.
It was somewhere around this time that Frans�s warning to Kurellian reached him. Warning of an intercepted Org communiqu� that indicated a second force was being dispatched to Amphitritium from orbit. The force would be shifted in, and therefore appear without warning among the rebels still within the city.
These shifted forces would attack from within, as the palace-based forces attacked from without. Pinning the rebels and city residents between them.
But that wasn�t the worst of it; there were to be two Resigents in the shifted force-- heavily armed robots of the type Riki and I encountered in our rescue of Frans before.
Kurellian warned his men over the comm link Frans had rigged up for him in the battle suit he wore. But he realized there�d be little he could do about the city from his present location.
Except to stop the palace force from joining the attack on the city, of course.
Kurellian hoped the shifting regiments would be coordinated with the arrival of the palace based reinforcements. So if the palace didn�t show, perhaps the attack of the other force would be delayed as well.
But that hope didn�t last long.
Only minutes after his warning to his men, Kurellian received word of disaster in the making.
The Magic in the entire city had gone dead.
Native city dwellers were dying by the hundreds.
Literally drowning in water which only moments before had sustained them.
All the lights and heat had also went out.
Even the Norse runes Kurellian had so painstakingly taught to his lieutenants had now become useless, according to the reports of his men.
Sturme had stolen both the High and Low Magics from Amphitritium.
There were three kinds of Magic on Vrr, as far as its natives were concerned: High Magic, Low Magic, and life itself.
Sturme and the other gods, the high altered, possessed all three.
The low altered, talismans, artifacts, some beasts, and rituals and spells, contained, or could call upon Low Magic, and sometimes life itself.
The lesser folk by and large possessed only the magic of life, and nothing more.
Amphitritium was now without heat or light. Or High and Low Magics. Hundreds of its citizens were dying.
And Wayar had yet to actually shift in his counter attack force from orbit.
Kurellian informed his nymphet hosts, who then relayed the word to their compatriots, via the unique interpersonal communications capabilities enjoyed by the altered.
To Kurellian, it appeared as a powerful form of telepathy.
Riki and I knew it was pretty much an earlier form of the shush net from Ling�s origin, to which the lesser folk of Vrr simply didn�t enjoy access.
Kurellian�s own comparatively limited faculties detected a great anger welling up within the godlings as the news spread among them.
It was at that point the impromptu altered strike force reached its destination.
They were greeted with a spectacle of massive destruction of their beloved sea life.
Kurellian himself grew afraid as he felt the wrath rise within the altered.
He steeled himself for what he knew would come.
Kurellian had found himself fighting both beside and against the altered many times in past conflicts. He shuddered involuntarily as the memories of those times flashed through his mind.
The wrath of the altered was a terrible thing to behold.
Kurellian suddenly realized he was the sole representative of the lesser folk among these powerful beings.
His friend Phylata, a sea nymph, suddenly stopped her powerful swimming strokes. As she personally carried Kurellian in tow, he found himself too suddenly stationary.
Phylata pulled Kurellian bodily to her, so that his face was directly across from hers. She expertly crafted a sonic message to him across the watery medium so that upon impact with his face plate it would convert to words familiar to him.
"Glaucus raises the Lust," she cooed. "You must stay back!"
Phylata pulled him to the sea bottom some distance from the coming battle.
Phylata was quite beautiful, despite her greenish complexion. And her naked form with its tireless and powerfully pumping limbs pulling them both through the water made her even more alluring.
Kurellian had known Phylata for several years. They were occasionally, bruisingly, intimate. Bruisingly, because Phylata being of altered stock was much sturdier and stronger than Kurellian.
A horrendous lust suddenly flared within him. His intelligence and logic were eclipsed by it.
His insides became as a ball of fire.
Kurellian exploded into motion. The ill-fitting battle suit slowed him somewhat, but not enough to prevent him from attempting to overpower Phylata.
Though Kurellian�s lack of training and on-body support devices prevented his use of most of the battle suit�s capabilities, still there remained one accessible to him, albeit unwittingly: raw strength.
The battle suits had powerful exoskeletons incorporated into their design. These exoskeletons served to amplify both the speed and the strength of the person housed within.
It wasn�t on a par with a fourth skin, but it was far from insignificant.
The interface to the exoskeleton was only partially dependent upon devices implanted into the wearer.
The primary interface was simply a mechanical synchronization to the gross movements of the wearer.
This meant that Kurellian possessed at least ten times his normal strength, as he grappled with Phylata.
His great strength came as a total surprise to her. She was accustomed to being especially gentle in his company, as he was so fragile.
But no longer.
Phylata knew Kurellian was under the madness of the Lust Glaucus had unleashed upon the palace as an initial strategy.
Glaucus was a son of Poseidon. Nephew to Zeus himself. Part of his legacy was the power of the Lust. His own ability in that area did not yet match his father�s. But even a fraction of Poseidon�s power in this could still have great effect.
Even the altered themselves were not immune to the Lust when it was raised. But they were far less susceptible than the lesser folk, such as Kurellian.
Phylata too could feel the lust welling up inside her. But it was her own choice as to its consequences. With the task of retaking the palace at hand, it was well within her power to deny her desires. At least, so long as Glaucus�s power was not focused directly upon her.
She could not dislodge the lust-crazed Kurellian. His strange clothing gave him enormous strength-- even greater than her own.
Though the imminent battle made the present predicament a nuisance, and could possibly delay her own contribution, still something in her appreciated the new state of affairs. She liked Kurellian very much. Actually better than any altered male she knew. Though his origins were thoroughly grounded in the lesser folk, Kurellian had gained respect even among the altered. He had strong allies and friends; Odin of the Norse altered among them. Kadd White too had been among his friends, while he lived. Before the fall of his nation.
But Kurellian was very reserved. Too reserved, for Phylata�s tastes. So she liked the aggressiveness the Lust had brought upon him now.
He was too strong for her to resist. And her sisters and the others would not sorely miss her at the moment. She was of a good mind to see just what he would do, now that his damnable logic was overruled for once.
Kurellian dragged her down to the sea floor. She could see his eyes were ablaze through his transparent faceplate. His reason was not in sight.
They came to rest in a bed of fine sand. Phylata had surrendered to his superior strength, now offering no resistance.
Phylata wore only a G-string, to which she occasionally tied small articles she wished to carry with her.
Kurellian ripped the string from her. And was immediately atop her.
But there was no relief for his madness.
Phylata was nude, but Kurellian was not.
The same battle suit that gave him the strength to force himself upon her, also prevented the consummation of the act.
Wild-eyed, Kurellian reacted to his frustration by freeing Phylata from his unbreakable grip, and clawing insanely at his suit. Phylata watched him with interest for a moment. Then she too tried to help him out of his armor. But he was too crazed, and knocked her away. Too, she now remembered that he would drown without the suit. Her thoughts had grown foggy from the combination of the Lust and the alluring aggressiveness of her sometime lover.
Kurellian�s frenzy was now subsiding. He�d been unsuccessful in his effort to remove his suit and drown.
The problem was that he didn�t know how to remove the suit. Fortunately.
His convulsive, sustained effort had exhausted him.
The exhaustion blunted his lust too, and allowed him to regain control of his faculties.
Phylata could see and feel his reason returning. But the lingering, unsatisfied desire made it ragged about the edges.
"Kur, as always, you disappoint me." Phylata acoustically projected towards his face plate. Goading him both for his weakness against the Lust, and his inability to finish what he�d started.
"I-- I-- know not myself..." Kurellian stammered, holding his head in his hands.
Phylata could easily make out his words, despite the muffling of the suit and the water between them; sea nymphs possessed excellent hearing.
Kurellian was obviously still dazed, but the attack was now underway.
"Stay here Kur! I will return for you." Phylata beamed at his head. Then she immediately swam to join the fray.
Kurellian watched her swim away. His eyes followed her to the scene of the battle, and he remembered where he was, and what he was about.
The confrontation was dividing into two separate undertakings.
Every trooper outside the great spherical palace had been stricken with the same lust as Kurellian. They�d all, everyone, dropped their weapons or emerged from their tanks to chase the nymphs. The women had led them away from the palace, thereby stripping it of its outer garrison.
But the palace itself seemed unaffected by the Lust.
The male gods, much fewer in number than the nymphs, were taking on the palace.
A huge squid had wrapped itself about one part of the sphere, blocking the vision of the huge ball-like craft in the direction of the nymphs. Glaucus hurriedly passed among the deserted tanks, tapping each as he passed it.
Once touched, each gleaming machine turned dark within moments, cracking open and spitting out masses of bubbles and viscous fluids.
Glaucus was turning the craft to stone with a deadly touch.
The power of the son of Poseidon was awesome to witness.
Though the armored units were now unmanned and of little consequence, Glaucus was making sure they would not later rejoin the conflict. It was widely known few of Wayar�s devices required an operator. Oftentimes they would come alive on their own, killing their victims no differently than if they�d been occupied.
Elsewhere, the nymphs were allowing the crazed troopers to catch up to them.
But there was a significant difference here from the encounter between Kurellian and Phylata.
The Org troops knew how to open their suits.
Kurellian watched in pained fascination as soldier after soldier exploded in a burst of bubbles as he opened his suit to the sea.
Each man seemed to realize his mistake once the water rushed in.
But by then it was too late.
The suddenly drowning troops scrambled to escape the crushing, suffocating wetness around them. But sanctuary was beyond their reach. Those who�d succeeded in wiggling completely free of their heavy armor convulsed frantically as their now unencumbered bodies rose towards a surface they would never reach alive.
Motion back at the palace drew his vision away from the crushed and drowning troops.
Openings had appeared in the wall of the palace, far above the area covered by the squid.
Intense spears of light lanced out from the openings, towards Glaucus. Two struck him directly.
The bolts seemed to strike Kurellian too. Except on the inside. Because the artificial lust inspired by Glaucus�s influence abruptly ended.
Flashes from the area of the nymphs drew his eyes now.
The end of the overwhelming broadcast of desire had stopped the systematic drownings taking place among the distracted troops.
Those soldiers still safely enclosed in their armor were recovering their wits. And turning vengeful, as they realized the attrition among their numbers.
The nymphs could not outrun micro lasers and miniature guided missiles.
Several nymphs exploded in direct missile hits. Others were severely burned with laser strikes, or at closer ranges suffered the loss of limbs cut off by the beams.
But the nymphs were far from defenseless. They were the daughters of gods, after all; some even of Zeus himself.
The tortured waters suddenly reverberated with sound.
Kurellian knew the goddesses were using the Word.
He was unsure if either the distance or the suit could protect him from the Word. So he hurriedly buried his head in the sand, as deeply as he could.
Even through the ground he could feel the killing vibration.
He knew it wouldn�t last long.
He hoped Phylata was unharmed.
As the intense vibrations died away, he dared to unearth his head and examine once again the battlefield.
Remarkably, some of the armored troops had survived the sonic blast. But not by much. The few whose heads were not now bloody clouds of debris floating above their shoulders were firing wildly, seemingly deranged by the blast.
The giant squid had left the palace and was efficiently jetting about, gathering up the survivors, biting off their heads with its huge beak. Even the tough armor of the battle suits seemed to give its jaws little pause in their task.
Suddenly the water immediately before Kurellian looked different somehow; as if a warmer current was swirling through a cooler one.
And he was startled by the voice of someone seemingly just in front of him. But he could see no one.
"So you are the rebel leader. I almost killed you." The disembodied voice spoke.
"Where are you?" Kurellian spoke to no one.
"Here! Before you!"
The slight visual distortions in the water solidified into the merman Triton. He was holding a wicked looking three bladed spear, perhaps seven feet long.
Kurellian feared for his life as the altered materialized before him, and frantically swam backwards from him.
"I am killing only the warriors of Wayar this day, land-man. You have nothing to fear. Except for the suit you wear, which marks you as an enemy. Have a care, else you be a speared fish! Ha, ha!"
With that the merman turned eerily transparent again, and was gone.
Kurellian had been unaware of Triton�s power of invisibility.
Apparently the sea-god was disemboweling the surviving armored troops wherever he found them. Helping the nymphs and the squid.
The squid might be a god in shape change, Kurellian realized. It was acting much as a god would, given the circumstances.
Kurellian had witnessed shape change before. It was not a pretty sight.
For much of the process the god undergoing the transformation looked much the same as a lesser folk being crushed or deformed by an altered.
The blood and debris from the stricken troops near the nymphs had spread wide, now obscuring that scene.
Movement in an unexpected place near the palace drew Kurellian�s eyes there.
It was Glaucus! He still lived!
The top half of his body was blackened; perhaps scorched. But he seemed still of one piece. The dazzling beams from the palace had failed to bring him down.
Glaucus turned towards the huge sphere, where the same spears of light previously trained on him now sought out the enormous squid who acted as his ally.
The ocean rumbled around Kurellian. It was the Word again. But this time from Glaucus alone.
The Word of a son of Poseidon.
Glaucus and the palace were farther away from Kurellian than the nymphs. And Glaucus was directing the Word in almost the opposite direction from where Kurellian watched. And there was the protection of the battle suit he wore, as well.
Did he dare risk maintaining his watch? No.
Again Kurellian buried his head in the ocean sand. Streaks of dark and lighter colored grit decorated his faceplate view, illuminated by the soft light present inside the helmet.
The muffled sound of the Word of Glaucus alone seemed as strong as the chorus from the entire group of nymphs had been before.
As it faded, Kurellian rose again to assess the results.
The ground at his feet was still resounding with the blast.
In the distance he could see the great sphere of the palace rocking about in the water, with burning streaks of light firing wildly from its upper portals.
Kurellian could detect no damage upon the palace.
He could see Glaucus had neared a round door on the lower part of the still settling sphere. He reached out and touched the door, and it darkened. Kurellian thought he detected the body language of disappointment in Glaucus�s form.
He deduced Glaucus had turned the door to stone, expecting it to crack apart, as the tanks had done. But it hadn�t. And a stone door could be as much a barrier as a metal one, if unbroken.
He watched Glaucus examine the unyielding door, then turn and swim a few feet away, where he turned to face the sphere once again.
Glaucus raised his hands to either side of his face.
The Word sounded once again, in a single, brief blast.
The door burst into fragments. And only after this did some sound of the blast reach Kurellian�s ears.
For an instant he thought his life forfeit.
But very little of the thunderous vibrations reached him.
After a moment he knew death had passed him by, this time.
Glaucus had tightly focused his Word upon the stone door in order to break it.
Glaucus immediately disappeared into the dark region exposed by the shattered door.
And quickly backtracked again, apparently in some distress. Although Kurellian could detect no enemies pursuing him.
Glaucus appeared weakened. And gasping for breath.
Kurellian recalled the message from the city. That hundreds of water breathers were dying as the High Magic in Amphitritium faded away.
He also recalled the earlier account of the city residents. That Poseidon and the others had been captured within the palace after Sturme had stolen their powers.
Perhaps there was no High Magic in the palace at this time.
But there was High Magic aplenty in the waters outside the palace! That was proven by the success so far of the godlings against Wayar�s forces.
So where did the High Magic end? And its absence begin? Exactly?
Glaucus had successfully transformed and broken the outer door.
So the High Magic seemed still to reach a foot or so into the walls of the palace.
But beyond that, Glaucus grew sick. The High Magic did not reach far into the mass of the sphere.
What if they broke the palace? Breeched the outer wall?
Would that then allow the High Magic to seep in, along with the sea water? Allowing the gods both inside and out to finish off Wayar�s forces?
A simple plan emerged from these questions.
But he needed to talk with the godlings. The battle suit allowed him only easy contact with us (Riki, Frans, and me) and his compatriots at the city. His best route here was to relocate Phylata, he realized. If she was still alive.
Many nymphs were streaming towards the palace now, since the troop escort was no more. But some remained in the area of the carnage; either helping wounded sisters, or among the wounded themselves.
"Phylata!" Kurellian yelled in the small volume of his helmet. He hoped the sound would carry to her. He repeated her name several times. His ears rang with the concentration of his voice within the confines of his headgear.
As he awaited a reply, he filled in the details of his plan. His most powerful runes would be too time-consuming to satisfy the altered, he was sure.
And his lesser ones would be too weak on their own to break the palace.
But a combination of lesser runes and the Word might accomplish the task.
One problem would be his own survival. He could not properly direct the runes with his head in the sand. Or if he were too far away from the battle-scene. And yet, the Word could swell his head until it burst. Even within the otherwise formidable battle suit he now wore.
Perhaps Phylata would know a way.
If she was not dead.
Kurellian would greatly miss Phylata if she was no more.
She meant not as much to him as his wife Trianka had, oh so many years ago. But she was someone he cared about.
Too much, he thought. Love should be reserved for other lesser folk-- not for the altered, on whom fate had already bestowed so much.
But Kurellian seemed strangely isolated from his people these last few years. More and more, his fellow lesser folk treated him more like a friendly altered than one of their own. Treated him with growing fear and begrudging respect, as if they had little choice in the matter.
Kurellian did not quite understand why or how this had happened. But it had served to strengthen his ties with high gods such as Odin, and others such as Phylata. His relationships with such friendly altered had begun out of necessity, as the lesser folk had needed all the help they could get to survive. Since the fall of Kadd White�s efforts, the fate of the lesser folk had depended more than ever on what good relations with the altered they could manage to obtain.
Of course it wasn�t only Kurellian�s comradery with the altered that had alienated him from his people. Kurellian�s own prowess in adept knowledge, and things such as Odin�s runes, which the Asgardian himself had provided instruction for, also contributed to the changes Kurellian had witnessed in others' attitudes towards him.
And yet, these same abilities had saved literally thousands of his people from death or worse fates, over the past twenty years.
It seemed the harder he worked to help his people, the more they all feared him, and the more some hated him.
He often wished he could ask his old friend Kadd, or his beloved mentor, their advice on his present dilemmas; asked them how he could overcome the ever growing burden of loneliness and isolation his current status was bringing upon his head. Asked them how he might serve his people without feeding their fear and anger at him for it.
Asked them if death would be a blessed end to all knowing, all feeling, an end to madness and pain and frustration and loneliness.
Asked them if he would again be with his wife and son, after this life was through.
The thought of his long dead wife saddened him. Her death had been terrible. And occurred before his very eyes.
Someday Sturme would pay for that savagery. Personally pay.
Somehow the god of gods would answer for at least one of his thousands of heinous acts.
A familiar voice brought him back to the present.
"I do not have time for your impotence now, Kur!"
Phylata now floated above the sea floor, before him. She appeared unharmed. Thank the runes! She was even insulting him. That meant she was not yet overwhelmed or disheartened by the conflict. That too was good.
"You must tell your family I have an idea! A way to defeat Sturme�s power over the palace perhaps!"
Phylata laughed. "You? A wizard with no magics of his own? That must beg magics from others to hold his title? We are doing well enough with you hiding out here. Why should we listen to you?"
"Because you cannot enter the palace! Sturme has stolen the High Magic there! Glaucus himself entered, and was weakened. I saw him! Ask him if you do not believe my words!"
Phylata�s cool green brow furrowed for a moment, as she reached to Glaucus with her thoughts.
Even without the Lust of Glaucus upon him, Kurellian regarded Phylata�s gracefully treading form with pleasure.
He hoped they�d get the chance to meet later on land, after this was over. Meet somewhere that this damnable suit would not get in the way!
Phylata�s expression changed. And she swam closer to him. She embraced him bodily in a most stimulating posture. Her strong legs wrapped around him, and her face drew close to his helmet.
He knew she did this purposely to influence his desire. A desire she knew was stymied by the armor he wore. He�d make her pay for her indolence later. If he got the chance.
"What is your idea, my pet wizard?"
Kurellian bristled at the term 'pet'. It was used partly as an endearment, but mostly as a reminder of her general superiority in many areas. Being a nymph, she could normally kill him in any number of ways with very little effort. In fact, she had to expend considerable effort to avoid killing him, under most circumstances. Not that she wanted to harm him, just that it was that easy for her. The Word, the Touch, the Look. A god could kill even the strongest of the lesser folk with any of these.
Every moment Kurellian spent near Phylata was one of high risk. He often mused that perhaps the greatest gift she might give him was accidental death during love play.
"If your family were to focus a great Word upon the palace, while at the same time I threw upon it a rune, we might break Sturme�s hold."
A smile played about Phylata�s lips. She looked amused.
"What a splendid idea! We would never have thought of a great Word on our own!" She said sarcastically.
"But save your little rune, my pet. You might need it someday! To entertain me, perhaps!"
Kurellian was too disciplined to let her see his inner anger.
"You cannot break the palace with the Word alone." He stated flatly.
"But the palace is just a big ball, after all. Much like a man�s head. And the Word does especially well on heads." Phylata�s expression lost its smile. She pursed her lips, leaving an ominous opening at the center.
Though it appeared very similar to the pout of a kiss, this was an expression often seen with use of the Word. A facial gesture which had been the very last thing many lesser folk (and Wayar troopers!) had ever seen.
Kurellian�s blood froze in his veins. Had Phylata decided to kill him?
But then her tongue appeared between her lips, changing her threatening gesture to one of comedy.
Relief washed over him. But he strove not to give away his wildly gyrating emotions to her. He much preferred a stoic outer countenance.
Phylata�s smile returned. And she rhythmically rocked their joined bodies in a parody of more pleasant circumstances.
Damn nymph, Kurellian thought, as Phylata�s motions shook him back and forth in the water.
"We must hurry, Phylata," he urged.
"That is one of your worst shortcomings, Kur!" She admonished. "In and out and done. Short lives, short sex, short everything." She shook her head from side to side in feigned sadness.
Kurellian knew well Phylata�s constant barrage of belittlement of his sexual prowess.
But their continuing relationship these last few years belied her words. For if he was so inadequate, why did she continue to see him?
"Be that as it may, time is not our ally here, Phylata. Sturme will not long neglect this place. If we are to see victory, we must do so now, or never."
"Glaucus is considering your plan, Kur. And placing my sisters to best advantage. We will breach the palace walls."
Kurellian could see the nymphs forming a spherical pattern in the water surrounding the palace.
"But they�ll be burned!" Kurellian exclaimed.
"No, little man. We are to cast the Look at anyone who appears from within. We have all the exits watched."
"But can the Look work as well as the Word on Wayar�s men?" Kurellian openly wondered.
"We know that Wayar�s minions are like turtles; hard on the outside, soft on the inside. They are lesser folk, encased in shells which give them Magic. We know the Word can reach inside their shells. But the Look? How to test this, with no one peeking now from the palace?
"We have you, my pet."
Alarm raced through his veins. Phylata was going to test her Look upon him. To see if the battle suit would protect him. He opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late.
Phylata�s eyes began to flash; faintly and fast at first, to lock him in trance, then brighter and slower, to transmit her commands. She stared at him intently.
Kurellian was helpless in her gaze.
"Do you want me, Kur?"
"Yes!" He said, without hesitation. A mortal could not lie under the Look.
"Are you my slave?" She said haughtily, with one eyebrow raised.
"Yes!" This made him angry. But under the Look, he truly was her slave.
Her expression changed again.
Now he began feeling ill. Suddenly, unexpectedly, ill.
"Do you feel bad, little Kur?" She pursed her lips in an insincere pout, her eyes wide and unblinking as the strobe effect slowly swelled and ebbed in Kurellian�s face.
"Yes!" He wanted to double over and clutch at his stomach. But Phylata was in the way. If he gave in to his impulse, the strength of the suit might harm her. He could dimly remember how easily he had overpowered her before.
It was possible she might not be intending to kill him now. But she easily could.
This was only a test. He hoped.
But the pain was mounting inside him. Soon he would spontaneously convulse into a fetal position. Regardless of his determination not to do so.
Phylata would be crushed by the strength of the suit. He had to cast her away before he folded in on himself. But the Look permitted no voluntary action not directed by the nymph herself. He could not even breech the subject on his own.
Phylata�s eyes were flashing very slowly now, the light flowing gently higher and lower, in some unknown language his conscious mind was powerless to ignore or disobey. She was regarding him in a calculating fashion.
The pain was getting intense.
Kurellian called upon his training as an adept. Phylata�s Look had only an indirect impact on his breathing, and the muscles of his body. He concentrated on his breathing first. Slowing it down. Regulating it. This focused his will. Calmed him. Relaxed his tortured muscles. The pain diminished. Faded into the distance.
His perception of time passage slowed to a crawl, and made the flashes of Phylata�s eyes seem to slow even further to his senses.
His awareness moved away from those areas within him under Phylata�s control. She was too strong there.
Thankfully, the overpowering glare of the Look did not reach everywhere.
He probed here and there, recoiling where he encountered the intrusion of the Look.
He found the Look was intercepting his commands to his limbs; filtering out any that did not coincide with Phylata�s direct orders.
So any straightforward route was impossible.
But there were others that were clear. Impulse passages not normally used for conscious messaging.
In the distance he could feel the induced pain still mounting, despite his efforts to blunt its impact. The end of this event was near.
The trick would be to make the action involuntary: reflexive. The Look could not stop such a move, from what he�d seen of its effect before.
He could not shape a verbal warning to her. The effort would be too complex and time consuming.
It would have to be physical.
The strength of the suit would help. Also the present position of his arms, wrapped around Phylata�s slim waist as they were.
The hard part was initiating the proper reflex.
He turned his attention from his physical vision to his inner one, and there began constructing an illusion.
It was the most frightening image he could conjure.
He pictured himself not in the embrace of a beauteous nymph, but instead in a death struggle with a bona fide terror. A banshee: a she-devil that was half mouth, with teeth like daggers. He�d had a close call with such a beast years before, so its image was clear in his mind.
No mortal who�d fought a banshee by hand had ever lived to tell about it. Immediate escape from its clutches, or death, were the only options.
This he knew instinctively. Which was important in order to get the reflex action he required.
He continued to add to the strength of his terrifying vision. Pulling more and more of his concentration into the task.
For it to work, it had to seem as real to him as Phylata did.
Phylata�s flashing eyes and pleasing countenance were replaced by the horrible sight of a banshee at close range.
The horrific two feet wide smile of the banshee displayed its twin rows of gleaming six inch long teeth. Its tiny close set red eyes lusted for his blood. Its grip on him was like that of a vise.
The over-sized jaws slowly opened wider. Sticky shining chords of saliva stretched from the upper to lower teeth.
Beyond the razor sharp teeth, the beast�s huge tongue recoiled in anticipation of the bite to come.
He could see down the ghastly throat of the beast. Slick and quivery pink flesh lined the way.
The throat cavity was much smaller than the huge mouth. The teeth would carve his flesh into much smaller chunks before the throat received it.
In preparation for the bite, the terror was inhaling. But this provided no respite from the stench of the killing pit which yawned before him.
The smell was of things dead. Things dead and ripened in the sun for days. The stink called to mind the frenzied buzzing of flies, and the squirming of maggots.
The stench sickened him. The fear grew from a trickle to a torrent.
The head of the banshee cocked to one side for its bite.
Here it came!
Electric fear crackled throughout his body.
Death! Escape! Survive!
The next thing he knew, he was thrashing wildly in the water.
Still in the throes of his terrifying vision, after-images of the banshee flashed at him every time he blinked his eyes.
But after a moment he realized he was underwater. And encased in strange clothing.
His heart still raced. His breathing still was tortured.
But his perception of reality was returning.
He was free of the monster!
But there was no monster.
Phylata!
As he returned to his senses, he hurriedly located where Phylata had been thrown. And went to her.
"Phylata! Are you harmed?" he questioned, concerned.
Phylata looked at him with a disbelieving expression.
"How did you do that?" She asked, apparently not seriously hurt.
"I was worried the suit would crush you. The pain you brought me was driving me to a convulsion that you might not have been able to escape." He explained clumsily. He hoped he was making more sense to Phylata than it sounded to him.
His thoughts were still shaken.
Phylata winced as she arose from the ground. She was favoring her ribs.
"You�re hurt!" He exclaimed.
"Of course I�m hurt, you-- you-- man!" She shot back.
"Phylata, I�m sorry--"
"Never mind. I think we proved the suit does not protect from the Look. You used your own magics to escape me. Would you agree?"
"Yes. I--"
"Wait." Phylata closed her eyes. Apparently to reestablish her link with Glaucus and her sisters. It took not long. Her eyes reopened. Her expression softened.
"You are full of surprises, wizard." Phylata spoke, seemingly with a bit more respect than usual.
"How did you break my Look?"
"That you may not know," he bravely ventured. This woman could still kill him easily, despite the strength of his suit, or his newfound and limited ability to throw off the Look. But he would not willingly detail for her his methods. He might need such a secret, someday. If, that is, the method would ever work a second time.
"After all, I must keep a few secrets, else you�d lose interest in your pet wizard. Is this not true?" His words were dangerous. His turnabout of her own words might rankle her.
But she smiled. With narrowed eyes.
"I could force you to tell me."
"If you�ll wait until after we�re done here, I might tell you anyway, in exchange for...certain favors."
Phylata�s eyes widened, and her smile evaporated.
She moved with lightning speed, throwing him on his back, pinning his arms to the ground.
He was surprised, but not by much.
He waited until the goddess was satisfied she had him secured.
Then he brought the enormous strength of the suit back into play. And reversed their positions in a single motion.
Her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils widened. But faint traces of a smile lurked at the corners of her mouth.
"I might kill you for this, you know." She quietly projected into his helmet with her sonics. She just as easily could have burst his head like a melon in the same instant.
"I hope you�ll wait long enough for me to get a last taste of your charms, so that I may die happy," He spoke back to her. Softly.
His eyes drank deeply of her own. Neither spoke again for a long moment.
His sincerity overcame her resistance.
She broke the gaze first. And began to fidget in his iron grip.
"Let me up, mortal!" She ordered. Kurellian was sure she�d never, ever uttered that particular phrase before.
"Of course, milady." He released her. But couldn�t resist teasing her further.
"I hope you�ll allow me the honor of laying you on your back again sometime, milady."
As she straightened, she gave him a scathing look. Which then softened into a compromising smile.
"I believe I will prefer laying you upon yours, my pet. And I will expect something better than your usual performance, I think."
"I am your servant, milady." He bowed to her deeply.
His chiding sarcasm was not lost upon her. But she seemed to like it.
"Humph! Ready your little rune, wizard. Glaucus tells me the time is nearing."
"Uh, milady!" Kurellian remembered a problem.
"Yes?" She looked irritated.
"The Word shall kill me, as I throw the rune."
"Oh?" She sounded unconcerned.
"Yes." Though it irked him to do so, he fell to one knee before her, and bowed his head.
"I request your help, milady."
"Towards what end, slave?" She replied. She knew he needed her now.
He ignored the unpleasant term.
"I must ask if milady knows of a way to protect me from the Word." He answered.
"Oh? So my head-strong little wizard is afraid of the Word, is he?"
He gritted his teeth. The re-taking of the palace was the important thing.
"Yes, milady."
Phylata allowed his words to linger without reply for a moment, before answering.
"Is your tiny rune really worth such effort?" She asked.
It seemed she did know a way!
"Yes, milady. I believe it is."
"Very well. There may be a way. But it is difficult and seldom done. And no one else among us would do this for you, but I."
"But such a thing is possible?"
"Yes. But you will not enjoy it. You could still die."
"Any of us here might die. I saw you lose some of your sisters."
Phylata�s stance stiffened slightly.
"That is true. Death is less familiar to we immortals, than to the lesser folk.
"Immortals are not meant to die." Her tone changed to one he couldn�t interpret.
"Sturme is an abomination. Zeus is the rightful father of the world. Sturme is....an invader."
Her statement amazed him. Did Phylata know of Sturme�s true identity? That he might truly be an invader from another world?
But now was not the time to pursue the subject.
Phylata�s expression subtly changed.
"Conjure your rune, wizard. The time has come."
"But what of the Word? Are there no preparations we do for it, to protect my head?"
"No. I will attend to that task."
Kurellian would have to chance it.
Drawing a rune from the Low Magic in the sea would be a new experience for him.
Kurellian softly voiced the name of the rune, and its entreaty.
Then he knelt in the sand, and traced the symbol with his finger.
Phylata watched the procedure silently. She�d never before watched him do Magic.
Kurellian closed his eyes. Inside, he searched for signs of the rune�s coming.
There was none. He mentally intoned the call again. And again.
His concentration deepened. It was often necessary to forget one�s surroundings, to call a rune.
The symbol appeared before his mind�s eye.
He had hoped this to be a simple calling, but that was not to be.
The rune was demanding full homage.
Kurellian mustered his full will to the task.
The ghostly symbol gained substance in his head.
Two dimensional tracings unfolded to become three dimensional solids.
Color and texture bloomed upon the image. A hard metallic sheen coated its form.
The rune detached itself from its foggy background. All else turned pitch black.
The rune gleamed in imaginary glory.
The symbol was now a full fledged talisman in his mental grasp, but not yet realized in physical effect.
It was a staggering task to hold the symbol intact, while also keeping out any intrusions from reality.
Now he watched the metalwork begin to slowly rotate.
He closely examined it for imperfections as it moved. And corrected them as he found them. Within a few revolutions, the rune was perfect. Now the rotation accelerated. The rune spun faster and faster.
Kurellian�s breathing, which had been progressively slowing as he worked, now stopped.
Kurellian was the rune.
His body convulsed as a power of Odin passed through it.
His eyes jerked open. The now violently spinning rune was a blur. But the blur was superimposed over the reality he now gazed upon.
Through the rune, Kurellian saw Phylata.
She spoke to him. But her words meant nothing.
His gaze turned slowly towards the great sphere. The image of the madly spinning rune grew before his eyes. Expanded until it fully covered the great globe of the palace.
It was then that he noted the movement of the palace. It was vibrating. The reason did not matter. All that mattered was adjusting the rune to move with it.
At last he�d matched the movement of the spinning rune to the vibrating palace.
It was time to release the rune.
His body convulsed again as the Magic left his form. A new pain joined those he�d grown accustomed to long ago.
A terrible headache pounded within him. The pain filled the hollow place left by the expended rune.
His awareness returned, even as his concentration ebbed.
The Word!
The Word was the source of his pain!
He tightly closed his eyes. Afterimages of the rune and palace flickered on the back sides of his eyelids. The hammering in his head was a physical sensation.
He realized he was wrestling with someone.
Then the pain fell away.
He ceased his struggle.
His eyes fluttered open.
And looked straight into the eyes of Phylata.
Her face was pressed hard against his mask. Her hands were clamped tightly to the sides of his helmet. Her expression was open-mouthed and determined.
Kurellian was on his back, Phylata atop him. His surroundings seemed eerily silent. Yet Phylata looked as if she were filling his helmet with the Word!
As she saw him awake, her eyes seemed to close in relief. And concentration.
His body was limp with exhaustion. Runes were demanding of mortal casters. Men had been known to die during the casting of their first and only rune, during training. Kurellian had cast dozens since he learned the way.
For a long moment Kurellian simply stared at Phylata�s face above his.
What was she doing? He�d survived the Word. It had passed, hadn�t it? Yet still she clung fiercely to him, in her silent, open-mouthed pose.
All pain was gone from his mind. All he could detect now was a faraway tingling.
Then, without warning, he experienced short, random spasms of pain.
He involuntarily cried out.
But the unexpected explosions of hurt quickly diminished.
Phylata released her grip, leaned back, and held her face in her hands.
"Phylata....what is it?" The greenish nymph rolled off of him, stopping to rest on her knees beside where he lay. Her hands still covered her face.
She looked at him as her hands fell away.
"I have-- not done that before," She was breathing heavily of the seawater around them.
"Done what?"
"Stopped the Word. It is difficult."
He remembered his momentary pain.
"Yes. I think you almost failed."
"No. You moved."
Kurellian tried to rise, and was surprised by his own weakness. But of course! He�d just cast a rune! How could he have forgotten so quickly? The near-miss with the Word must have scrambled his thinking.
He decided to rest a moment more, and just turned his head towards Phylata once again.
"Have we broken the palace?" he asked.
"Wait." Phylata�s face took on the familiar cast of communing with her fellow altered. This was faster and easier than struggling to rise above the surrounding rocks for a direct view of the scene.
"Yes-- but no." She puzzled Kurellian with her answer. Phylata continued.
"The palace is cracked, but Wayar�s demons prevent our entry still." Phylata paused for a moment, then continued once more.
"It seems some little Magic has re-entered the palace, for we can now hear a few family voices from inside. But not enough Magic is within to sustain Poseidon or the other high gods. We can not hear them. Proteus is wounded. We cannot get near enough to expand the break by physical means. Glaucus wants you to cast another rune. A rune to spread wide the palace rift." Phylata�s faraway look disappeared, and she turned to look into Kurellian�s face.
"Can you do it?"
Another rune! But that would mean another bout with the Word, would it not?
"Can you protect me from the Word a second time?"
Phylata looked tired. Her eyes darted about as she considered the question. Then they returned to meet Kurellian�s.
"No. It was harder than I imagined. I would lose you a second time."
Kurellian had feared as much. They were so close to success. And yet to complete their task might require his death.
Trianka, my wife. Are you waiting for me, just beyond this task? Kurellian silently asked himself.
"Have you a second rune, Kurellian?" Phylata�s question came as a whisper into his helmet, clothed in an unusually tentative tone. She wanted him to say no.
He was weak, to be sure. But he�d cast runes in far worse condition before.
The only real question was this: was he ready to die today?
He looked at Phylata, and saw past her feigned altered snobbery, the fears and sadness she hid from him, just as he did from she; he saw that her concern, her fear of losing him, matched that he felt towards her.
But the sadness, the grief he had carried ever since the death of Trianka, was greater than any love he had left, either for himself or another.
Was he ready to die today?
He�d been answering that question nearly every day for years with the same answer. It was not difficult to answer it one last time.
"Yes. Your pet wizard has one last stolen magic in his bag." He smiled weakly at Phylata.
If he hadn�t seen it before, he wouldn�t have recognized it now. A nymph�s tears were all but impossible for the uninitiated to detect underwater. Only a telltale puffing under the eyes gave it away, as the tears mixed readily with the seawater surrounding them.
Lesser folk tales claimed nymph tears had the power to heal wounds; but he doubted they could heal a head burst asunder. Besides, how could one catch a nymph�s tears underwater anyway? It was absurd. Kurellian laughed softly to himself. And then he began to call the rune, one last time.
At that moment an immense shuddering reverberated through the waters around them-- had more Org reinforcements appeared? Kurellian wondered. No! The vibrations came from the palace itself! It was now shaking and rocking of its own accord! No new Word had been spoken, no fresh Rune cast; the palace was moving due to something happening inside.
Perhaps Wayar had some fearsome new weapon to unleash upon them? He'd surprised his enemies many times before with such things.
The crack in the great sphere widened, and debris began streaming out. Soon the small figures of people could be seen escaping through the gap as well. Kurellian and his altered allies tensed to begin the battle anew-- awaiting only a new order from Glaucus, or other indication of what was happening, to move.
Yes, it was Org troopers streaming from the crack. But they seemed oddly disorganized. In fact, they seemed to be fleeing!
The palace rocked a few more times, expelling still more troopers in battle suits, then lay still once more.
Glaucus had given no order to his subjects. Instead, he and they cautiously drew nearer the great globe, to learn the true outcome of the struggle.
Suddenly the whole atmosphere of the altered around Kurellian changed. Though he was not a part of the telepathic communications he knew were streaming among them, from the visible changes in their facial expressions and body language, Kurellian knew there was good news.
Now the nymphs and others began eagerly converging on the palace, and entering the crack. From the efforts of many, the crack opened still wider, and more debris swirled out and into the open ocean.
Now the ground shook again, and Kurellian could feel another great Word resounding through the seas, to burst his head-- but no! This was not the man killing Word of the nymphs, but a gentler, happier expression-- it was a great laugh! A great laugh of joy erupting from the palace.
It was the laugh of Poseidon!