Page 44 of Elvenbred

The Probe followed as he worked his way across the rough ground, following the trail to the cave’s exit. He had moved most of the way along the length of the cave. He wasn’t sure about the exact distance but knew he had come several hundred paces along the cavern floor.

A wall of rock reared up in the torchlight, a massive fall that looked to have brought down the entire mountainside and blocked the entrance. I was trying much too hard. No need for all the work finding the fresh air source. Just head down the Gate ramp and walk straight until you hit rock.

He worked his way around the last piles of strewn debris to reach the cave mouth. His closer look confirmed his earlier assessment. The fall appeared reasonably fresh, with bright freshly broken rock shining up in the torchlight. He presumed that Triana had entered the cave before the rockfall had sealed it, unless there was another entrance he had missed. If so, that puts the rockfall only a couple of weeks back. He shone his torch across the surface of the rock. They certainly looked to be the product of a recent fall.

It looked like the mountain really had slid down, blocking the mouth. He whistled, and listened to the echo, trying to get a sense of the space. It felt vast. One tiny sliver of light, high up, suggested there might be a pathway out. He had little to compare against, but thought the light was at least ten times his height above the ground.

He felt an unaccustomed confidence as he walked back towards where the campfire smoldered. It had burned down since he left. He refreshed it with more of the spider’s legs, and sat for a few minutes to rest and think. He had done what he had come to do, but he now had a singular opportunity to explore. He’d already learned that the vision he’d spun to the king was … to use Lord Haldreck’s phrase … “nonoperative.” No serried ranks of Machina waiting for Manipulators to operate them or brass bands to play during the triumphal march. He poked a stick at the fire.

Three conclusions. First and biggest … not a damned word about this excursion to anyone. The moment that cat escaped the bag, then the pressure would mount to start using the Gate, and Haldeen’s leverage would evaporate. The tutor’s interviews with Triana were still long on social chatter and short on precise detail, but so far Triana had described a backward world that would not survive military Machina. One firelance could dominate … once the trivial problem of how to keep it powered had been solved. A handful might make him unstoppable.

Once Haldeen had solved the technical problems, the kings, and nobles, and soldiers would shove him aside. He would be reduced to a mere mechanic, tasked with turning the Gate on and off … just like the last time.

His trip here had whetted his desire, and the information Triana provided to the tutor gave him the advantage over everyone else, including King Alliard. He was determined not to give that up. He wasn’t quite sure how he would accomplish his goal, but as he stood there holding the stinking torch, he felt a resolve grow. I will conquer this place. Not Alliard. Not the nobles. Me. In time the king and the nobles would have little to do except to sit and think about how Lord Haldeen had screwed them right and proper. So, drag it out with “almost successes” until you figure out what to do.

He walked back to his smoldering fire by the World Gate. He used the firelight to take a closer look at the wreckage. The stuff in here looked old. It had been a century, give or take, since the disaster of the Gate, but Haldeen’s people built to last. Most of this equipment looked to have been in place for centuries, and appeared much more rotted and decayed then the calendar suggested. Perhaps there was something here that eroded metal and organics. It might be as simple as periodic flooding, which was a cheery thought given where he sat. He tended to doubt that … the equipment looked to have aged, and wasn’t mud-caked the way a flood would leave it. Some piece of data that explained this discrepancy still eluded him.

He stabbed the fire with the spider leg. His attempts to light the mage-light, and then the igniter merely confirmed that there was no ambient magic here. Absolutely none. So, even if he had the Machina, they would have been shiny statues without any source of magic to power them. He would have to go back to the plans and proposals to see how the colonizers had planned to crack that nut.

He smiled to himself. Ah, the good old days … when everyone had been more parochial, when everyone had his place and stayed in it, and it had been his job to open the Gate … and someone else’s job to figure out how to get everything to work once the colonists got here. He felt his smile fade, and grew somber. Most of the Gatekeepers who worked for him had been killed when the World Gate had fed back on itself; too much magic trying to push too many panicked people through, and it all came down in one scintillating rainbow-hued blast. He closed his eyes against the tears, felt them leak out, and drew a ragged breath.

The Gate had survived, while the city hadn’t, and the Predator attack on top of the disaster spelled the end for both the project and the place where it launched. He felt himself growing maudlin from reliving that old disaster.

He stood, working to shake it off. He made a fresh torch. “C’mon,” he said to the Probe. “Let’s explore some more.”

He controlled the Probe through the control rod, but he felt alone enough that talking to it gave him a bit of comfort, something to do with his mouth, and a way to work through his thoughts.

He initially wandered, exploring the far side of the cave, away from the crevasse, and looking at the completeness of the disaster. He started somewhat aimlessly, gathering impressions, but within a short while evolved a firmer purpose. He began circling the central ramped platform that contained the World Gate, and slowly worked his way out, making expanding circles and surveying the wagons and other large pieces. He took his work pad out of his satchel. The work pad was just a few sheets of paper folded onto themselves to make a crude book. The pad made it possible to tally what he saw, and where possible, to draw components and work backwards from form to the functions they performed. He sketched as he moved, once he figured he could have the Probe hold the torch. True to form, it breathed in the black sludge that came off the flame without so much as a wheeze.

He made three full expanding circles around the World Gate before he found a set of wagons that appeared dusty, but otherwise intact. The wheel-coverings had long since rotted away, and the glass had become discolored and crazed, but otherwise the essential mechanisms appeared intact. “Alright,” he said to the Probe, “let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” He stripped off his robe, leaving him in his trews and shirtsleeves, and went to work.

A giant yawn, followed by thirst, a sharp pang of hunger gave him only a vague sense of how much time had passed. He wiped his eyes with the back of a grimy hand. The torch, replenished at least a dozen times, now had a metal handle and crude basket to hold the flame. It had been jammed into a convenient spot on the ground, near where the Probe stood, holding up one end of a wagon, so he could work underneath. At least the Probe had not failed, proving that his initial speculation that a lack of ambient magic on this side of the Portal was the cause of the initial disaster. It was still running on its own internally generated magic and the brute force of its organic body. He did catch a whiff of urine where it had voided itself. Next time you create a Probe, leave in the part of the brain that lets it control its own elimination.

He looked at the line of parts and components that he had salvaged, and which he thought might be useful. They looked somewhat mismatched, and he was not altogether clear on their operating states, but when he twisted and flexed them, they seemed to move as they ought. Now, to figure out what they all do … and how to use them.

He checked the drawings he made while collecting and inspecting the salvaged components. Each sketch seemed complete. A second yawn followed, and he felt bone weary. Enough for one night.

He froze. It seemed like a hundred years had passed since he had passed through the Gate, and he had been so busy surveying and collecting that he had lost all track of time. He was dirty and disheveled. His appearance would certainly cause talk, and that talk could well likely pass back to Alliard’s rented ears. His key to keeping control over his Gate lay in not drawing attention. He must not act in a manner that would undermine the story he would tell. Promising yes, but not ready yet for people to use. Still testing.

He felt a flutter of fear … What if the Gate itself continued to be powered? If so, then the drain on the city’s magic would stretch into the morning while everyone was awake, and be much harder to conceal. Worse, What if it wasn’t? He might be trapped!

He dropped the last armature, and hurried towards the World Gate. At first it appeared cold and still, and he felt panic rising. Then, as he got closer, the slight hum, and tiny glow that suggested it drew magic and remained operational.

He let out a gusty sigh of relief. The Probe had followed. He didn’t recall if he had told it to follow him, or had done so of its own accord, but he was glad for its presence by his side. “I’ll go through, and you follow.”

It wasn’t until after he had crossed the World Gate and stepped back into his lab that he stopped to think about how breathtakingly dangerous the passage to Triana’s world had been. Better to have sent the Probe first, so that if the pathway failed, it, and not he, would have been fed back through the Gate, to emerge as rainbow particles. He would have been trapped in the cave, but would be alive. Still, he had walked there, and seen a new world with his own eyes.

He had not made it far with that train of thought when the Probe stepped through, slamming into him and driving him to his knees. He nearly landed in a spreading puddle of wine from the bottle that had been knocked over when they first went through the Portal. The bottle rolled a bit, letting a bit more wine dribble from the neck.. He stared at it at a long moment, certain it meant something, but too tired to work it out.

He put the Probe into its cage, and cleaned it, all the while yawning with fatigue. Between the stress of yesterday’s events, the strain of the passage through the Gate, the fear, and the long night’s work, he thought he might be able to sleep standing up. But, he had to keep up appearances, which meant having to stay and work, when all he wanted was to sleep.

He did find a spare robe and coat in the lab, and swore as he realized he had left the robe that he had been wearing on the other side of the Gate. So much for concealing his presence. The robe literally had his name on it. Too damn tired and making mistakes. He would have to go back and get the robe … but not tonight. Too many other things to do.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been gone, but it had certainly been hours. He’d let himself get distracted in his search, and what should have been a quiet return in the middle of the night would be a very public emergence well after sunrise.

He would also be expected to respond to queries from the staff, and would need to be available in case the palace called. Tongues would wag if he took to his bed now, and—

He looked at the clepsydra to check the time, and swore out loud. The water clock showed a bit past the time that he had left, a mark at most.