Gathering their packs the dwarves set out toward the north, following Glandurg’s magic indicator toward an unseen foe.
There was no sign of life in the room where Wiz had met Craig and Mikey. Now the glass wall showed the night sky clear but oddly devoid of stars. There were just a few sprinkled around, making it hard to tell where the sky left off and the shadow of the mountains began.
Aside from the weak starlight, the only illumination came from the console monitor which spilled a squarish puddle of pale light onto the tiled floor. The only motion was the slow ceaseless rotation of the strange shape on the computer screen as the system ground inexorably closer to the final solution.
The door opened and a robot guard clanked in, sensors swiveling left and right as it probed the darkness, the laser turrets on its shoulders tracking restlessly back and forth. It was the very picture of mechanized death, even if a thin stream of oil was leaking from a blown knee seal, leaving oily footprints in its wake. Every time the robot took a step the piston in the leaking hydraulic damper slammed against the stop, making a distinct "clank." But the noise only made the black metal thing more menacing.
Twice it circled the computer, alert for any sign of life or anything out of order. Finding nothing, it clanked around the room once more and left. The dim light glinted faintly off its shiny black carapace as it turned the corner and the sound of its passage faded into the silence and stillness of the night.
Long after the guard’s last echo died something moved in the deepest dark at the base of the computer. Slowly and oh so cautiously a smaller patch of darkness separated itself from the computer’s shadow. As it scuttled along the base of the wall a stray glimmer of light caught it and resolved the patch into a tiny manlike figure.
The gremlin squeaked inaudibly at the light and scurried back into the shadows. There it paused, casting this way and that, its leaflike ears flapping and its long pointed nose quivering.
Machines! It was in the middle of an enormous collection of machines with a variety and complexity it had never imagined. In every direction beyond these stone walls was a gremlin king’s ransom of machines. The computer that had been such a regal home just a few days ago was shabby and threadbare by comparison.
A broad, snaggle-toothed and beatific smile spread over the little creature’s face.
Suddenly it was a very happy gremlin.
Forty-one: LOSS
"Nothing?" Bal-Simba demanded. "Nothing at all left?"
Dragon Leader shook his head. "A smoking crater, Lord. We landed and searched for survivors, but we found only one."
He gestured at the brownie standing on the council table.
"Breachean, my Lord." The little man hung his head. "It is my great shame that when the invaders came I ran away."
"It is our good fortune that you did," Bal-Simba said kindly. "Else there would be none to tell us what happened."
"I cannot tell you much, my Lord. I was outside when the metal creatures arrived and I ran. From the top of the hill I saw them carry out the thing the gremlins loved and put it in their ship. But then I ran over the hill and saw nothing more until the explosion."
"The computer?" Moira demanded from her place behind Bal-Simba’s chair. "They took the computer?"
"Aye, my Lady. The metal things carried it out."
"But you saw no people?"
"No, Lady, either yours or my own."
The giant black wizard was silent for a moment, his head sunk on his chest. Up and down the long table the wizards of the Council of the North simply stared. One seat at the table was conspicuously vacant.
"Very well," he said at last. "Thank you, Breachean. Dragon Leader, keep what watch you can on the area in case someone else did survive, but do not endanger your riders."
Dragon Leader saluted and left with the brownie at his heels.
Bal-Simba sighed and looked back at Moira. "Child, I am sorry," he said simply.
The hedge witch was white, her freckles standing out vividly. "They will pay for this," she said softly. "By the World, the sea and the sky above they will pay!"
"Indeed they shall," the wizard Juvian said from his place near the head of the table. "Lady, the Council extends its deepest sympathies to you in your bereavement."
"He is not dead," Moira said fiercely. "The others perhaps, but not Wiz. I would know if he was."
The wizards did not point out that psychic bonds worked poorly between the Worlds.
"Remember the elf Lisella’s prophecy," another wizard said. "All would suffer great loss, the mightiest among them would perish and our enemy would gain his heart’s desire."
"The first part is fulfilled," Bal-Simba said. "Let us see if we can prevent the rest from coming true."
"We still have the wizards and apprentices that Jerry was training," Arianne pointed out.
"Even the best of them is more promising than skillful," Bal-Simba told her. "They are but half trained and none of them is close to being a match for any of the off-worlders." He nodded to Malus and Juvian. "Meaning no offense, my Lords."
"None taken," Juvian replied. "You speak only the simple truth."
"What about the elf?" Honorious asked.
"Aelric? There is no sign. Perhaps he perished or perhaps he has returned to his own domains."
"Well then," Agricolus said. "We must still face these others. What chance have we?"
"If they have the computer they can take the Sparrow’s work and turn it against us," Bal-Simba said grimly. "Now time is on their side. We must deny them as much of it as we can."
"You mean attack them now?" Arianne asked.
"As soon as we can. They will only grow stronger."
The wizards shifted in their chairs. Arianne opened her mouth as if to ask another question and then thought better of it.
"Well," said Juvian at last. "I see no way to better our position by waiting."
No one at the table was under any illusion about their chances. That was written in their faces. However cowards do not gain the magical power that lifts a man or woman into the ranks of the Mighty, still less are they chosen to sit on the Council of the North.
"Very true," said Malus with a completely uncharacteristic seriousness. "With the Sparrow and his friends gone there is no one left who is truly a master of the new magic."
"No, wait!" Moira shouted. "There is another!"
Forty-two: A NEW PLAYER
Judith was awake and sitting up in bed when Bronwyn and Moira came in.
"Hey Bronwyn, look at this." She held up her right arm, clenched a shaky fist and beamed. "Not bad, eh?"