The Gates Of Winter Part 23

"I hope you don't mind-I started on that cross-indexing a.s.signment Nakamura gave you. I didn't know which desk was whose, and the a.s.signment was sitting here, so I thought, b.u.g.g.e.r, maybe I'd better get to it."

Deirdre forced a smile and held up the folder Nakamura had given her. "Don't worry about it. I'm all set."

Anders kept typing. "I'll tell you, I never thought I'd be much into computer work. I was a bit worried about that when I decided to join up. But crikey, it turns out I'm a fiend for it. I got here at quarter to seven just to get a jump on things."

She held a hand to her pounding temple. "I'm sure you did."

"There's coffee over on the filing cabinet there. Help yourself."

Deirdre couldn't resist the lure of caffeine and went over to investigate. There was a stainless-steel carafe, several mugs, and a carton of real cream. She filled a mug from the carafe, laced it with a generous dollop of cream, and took a sip. The coffee was superior.

She raised an eyebrow and gazed at Anders over the mug. "Who brewed this?"

"I did. The beans are Kenya Double-A. I got them on my last trip home. That coffee came from the best field in my family's plantation."

So that was the source of the accent she couldn't quite place. He was Kenyan, descended of British colonials. As she moved back to her desk, she noticed the bouquet of flowers in the center of the claw-footed table.

"Someone sent you flowers?" she said, then took another vitalizing sip.

"Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely," Anders said with a gravely laugh. "In case you haven't noticed, I've got a mug only a mother could love. And even my mum squints when she looks at me. I brought those in myself. I thought they might cheer up the place."

Deirdre sat at her desk. For some reason it bothered her to drink Anders's coffee, but it was a matter of survival. By the third cup her brain finally kicked into gear, and she was able to focus on the papers Nakamura had given her.

She didn't know if it was ironic or simply fitting, but her a.s.signment was to perform a survey of historical cases from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and determine if any of the Nine Desiderata had been broken in the course of each case. The goal of the study was to determine if the modern definitions of the Desiderata were in any way at odds with how the rules were applied in the first two centuries of the Seekers' history. Deirdre had to admit, it was an interesting topic. All the same, it was a bit on the academic side.

Be glad you have work to do at all, Deirdre. They could have ousted you from the order. Besides, research is exactly what you need to be doing right now.

However, as the day wore on, there was no opportunity to perform any more searches about the message on the keystone and Glinda's ring. The way the desks were arranged, Anders only had to turn his head slightly to see her-as well as the contents of her computer screen.

He did this what seemed like every ten minutes, asking her some question or another about how best to construct search queries, or what were her favorite indexing techniques. Deirdre did her best to answer his questions, and each time he'd respond with an outpouring of grat.i.tude that made her cringe before he turned his broad back to punish his computer some more.

By afternoon, despite the warning of the shadowy stranger last night, she could only think that Anders really was nothing more than a chipper tyro. True, he did seem a little old for a fresh recruit. She guessed him to be somewhere in his late thirties. Then again, people came into the Seekers at all ages, and from all different backgrounds. The only thing they had in common was an unquenchable curiosity-and a belief that there were worlds other than Earth.

At five o'clock, Deirdre couldn't take it any longer. Her desk looked like the aftermath of a battle between two libraries; papers and open books were heaped in chaotic piles. She took one last slug of coffee and grimaced; it was ice cold. Her headache had returned-the result of too much caffeine this time. The only thing that would get rid of it was a pint of beer.

And so one vice leads smoothly into another. Maybe hitting the pub isn't such a good idea.

Then again, knowing you had a problem was the first step in ignoring it. She shut her computer, stuffed it into her satchel, and stood.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Anders. Thanks for the coffee."

Anders looked up from his computer and grinned. "No problem, mate. See you."

Deirdre noticed that all of the papers on his desk were arranged in neat stacks. She turned before he could see her grimace and headed out the door. Belatedly, she realized she should have invited Anders to the pub. With Farr, it had been an unspoken agreement that they would go out for a pint after a day at the office. However, before she could go back, Sasha appeared from around a corner and hooked her elbow around Deirdre's, guiding her down the corridor.

"So, who's the Neanderthal with the bottle blond hair?" Sasha said, dark eyes gleaming. Today she was dressed like a ski resort vixen, from her too-tight sweater to the pink leg warmers.

"What?" Deirdre feigned mock surprise. "You don't already know? He's my new partner, Anders."

Sasha scowled. "Is that his last or first name?"

"I honestly don't know."

"You'll have to try to peek at his ID card. I bet his first name is Leslie or Carol. You know, something that doesn't go with the rough and rugged image."

"Like designer suits, flowers, and gourmet coffee?" Deirdre mused with a sharp smile.

Sasha didn't seem to hear her. "He's a bit scary-looking, to say the least. The baby blues work, though. And the muscles, of course, but that goes without saying."

"He's my new partner, Sasha, not my motorcycle daddy."

"Oh, yes, I bet he's got a black leather getup in his closet," Sasha went on eagerly, on a roll now. "You know, chaps, studs, whips-the whole scene. If you like that sort of thing. Oh, Deirdre, you don't like that, do you?"

Deirdre gaped at the other woman. "No!" "No!"

"Too bad," Sasha purred. "Farr was way too vanilla in my opinion. I think you could do with a little danger. It's good for the complexion." She patted Deirdre's cheek. "See you, darling."

Travis, Jay, and Marty reached the homeless shelter just in time to get the last few scoops of half-burnt oatmeal and reconst.i.tuted eggs. They ate it ravenously, even Travis. He had to eat to stay warm, and to have the energy to do what he intended to do.

Except that thought brought a wave of nausea with it, and he wished he hadn't drunk so much of the bitter, black coffee they served at the shelter. Something Professor Sparkman had said in the park that morning was important, Travis was sure of it, but his head throbbed, making it impossible to think. It had to do with matter and energy, and the missing ma.s.s in an atom. . . .

"That tasted like c.r.a.p," Jay said, pus.h.i.+ng back his paper plate, which he had wiped clean of every speck of food.

"What are we going to do today?" Marty said.

Jay let out a belch. "We need money. I think it's time for a little can collecting. What do you say, Travis?"

He stood up. "I can't. I've got to . . . there's something I need to do."

Jay gave him a suspicious look. "It's not something voices are telling you to do, is it?"

Despite the buzzing in his head, Travis grinned. "No, I came up with this all on my own. How about if I meet you guys later back at the park?"

"Just so long as we don't have to talk to Sparkman again," Jay said. "Let's meet there before dark. The shelter still has a waiting list a mile long, so maybe we can find another place tonight where you can do your little hot cement gimmick."

Marty gave an enthusiastic nod. "I liked that."

Travis promised them he would. The two men waved good-bye, then headed out the door. Travis stared at his empty plate, then dumped it in the trash and ventured out.

He spent the day wandering the gray streets of downtown, trying to gather courage enough to go through with his plan.

And just what is this plan that requires so much courage? came Jack's inquisitive voice. came Jack's inquisitive voice. I've never been able to fathom you, Travis, but I have to say, your current behavior is more confounding than usual. I've never been able to fathom you, Travis, but I have to say, your current behavior is more confounding than usual.

Travis started to tell Jack to be quiet, but he forgot the words as something caught his eye: a red piece of paper taped to a newspaper box. He moved to the box and tore off the paper. On it was the photocopied picture of a man. He was handsome, smiling in his tuxedo jacket-a wedding photo. There was a name and address below the picture, but it was the word above, printed in large type, that Travis read over and over. Missing. Missing.

The wind s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from his hand, and it fluttered away. He squatted, peering at the headline through the scuffed window of the newspaper box, but the lead story was about how the crime rate had gone down 32 percent since Denver began its contract with Duratek Corporation.

They control everything in this city, Travis. That has to include the newspapers. You won't read any news stories about the abductions.

Yet Anna Ferraro had done a story about the disappearances on TV. Maybe Duratek didn't control everything.

Not yet, anyway. Travis stood, s.h.i.+vering in his parka. He had no idea why Duratek was abducting people, but it was hardly out of character. What was the life of a homeless person to them if they could gain from it?

Except it wasn't just the homeless who were vanis.h.i.+ng now. The man on the flier had been happy, loved. Someone missed him. Travis didn't know what that meant. He turned his back on the newspaper box and trudged on.

At last, as the late-afternoon sun angled toward the mountains, he found himself in Confluence Park. It was here, at the point Cherry Creek flowed into the Platte, where gold was first found in 1858. Maybe Travis would find what he was looking for here as well. He headed down a bike path and found a shadowed nook beneath the Speer Boulevard bridge. On the other side of the river rose the spires of the Steel Cathedral, and they looked sharp enough to cut the sky.

He glanced down. The iron box rested in his hands. He didn't remember pulling it out.

Was this really the right thing to do? Maybe not, but it seemed to be the only option. He didn't know where in the world Duratek's gate was hidden, and even if he did, there was no way to get out of Denver and go there. Yet there was still something he could do for Eldh. He could destroy any chance Mohg had of breaking the First Rune.

He could destroy Krondisar and Sinfathisar.

I knew you were scheming something, Jack said, his words thrumming angrily in Travis's mind. Jack said, his words thrumming angrily in Travis's mind. And I must say, this is most rash indeed. I wish you had brought this foolish idea up earlier. For you see- And I must say, this is most rash indeed. I wish you had brought this foolish idea up earlier. For you see- Travis envisioned Sirith Sirith, the rune of silence, and Jack's voice was cut short. He had known Jack would object to his plan, but Travis couldn't let anything stop him.

He opened the box, took out the Stones, and held them in his right hand, feeling the hum of power against his skin. It would be so easy. He was a runelord-all he had to do was invoke their power and he could do anything he imagined. The wall between the worlds would fall down like a curtain, and he would see his friends standing before him, smiling, arms outstretched . . .

No. That was precisely why it was so dangerous to use the Stones. Because it was was easy. easy.

I won't become like Mohg. I won't.

Travis sensed Jack's m.u.f.fled protest, but he ignored it. Tightening his fingers around the Stones, he spoke the one word that could save him.

"Reth."

Power condensed out of thin air, striking him, racing along bone and flesh, as if his body was a lightning rod. He went rigid, unable to blink, to breathe, as the magic coursed through him-down his arm, into his hand, crackling around the two Stones like the vengeful blue fires of heaven.

The flames burned themselves out. Sweating, trembling, Travis slumped against a cement column and looked down. He expected to see a charred stump, but his hand was whole, unmarked save for the thin white scar on its back. Stiffly, he turned his hand over and unclenched his fingers.

The Stones glistened on his palm, smooth and perfect. Krondisar seemed small and dull in the gloom beneath the bridge, while Sinfathisar shone with soft gray-green light. For a time he simply stared. At last a laugh rose within him, only when it reached his lips it emerged as a sob. Nothing had happened. The Stones weren't so much as scratched.

"Maybe it's because I'm on Earth," he said. A pa.s.sing bicyclist glanced at him, then pedaled hard down the path. "Rune magic is weak here. That has to be it."

You're wrong, Travis.

Travis tried to shut out Jack's angry voice. "Magic doesn't work right in Denver. It's dangerous, but I'll have to risk going back to Eldh to destroy the Stones."

But you can't destroy them. That's what I was trying to tell you, only you were too hardheaded to listen.

"I won't believe that. There's got to be a way."

There isn't. The Stones cannot be destroyed.

Travis felt his own anger rising. "And how would you know?"

Because we already tried long ago to destroy them.

Travis's anger sublimated into a soft breath, white on the cold air, and melted away. "What?"

It was in the years following the War of the Stones, Jack spoke in his mind. Jack spoke in his mind. In the first days of Malachor. After Ulther wrested them from the Pale King, the Great Stones were given to the Runelords. In the first days of Malachor. After Ulther wrested them from the Pale King, the Great Stones were given to the Runelords.

"For safekeeping," Travis managed to croak.

No, not for safekeeping. With the Stones, the Pale King might have gained dominion over all of Eldh, and his master, Mohg, would have used them to break the First Rune. It was decided that it was best for the world if the Stones were no more, so the first mission of the Runelords-the very purpose for which the order came into being-was to destroy the Great Stones so that they could never again be used for evil.

Travis couldn't believe what he was hearing. The Great Stones made the wonders of runic magic possible. Would the Runelords really have given that power up so readily?

There was some dissent, Jack's voice said in answer to these thoughts. Jack's voice said in answer to these thoughts. A few said that rather than destroy the Stones, we should use them for good. Kelephon was chief among them. I imagine even then he was scheming a way to gain the Stones for himself. However, though he was the most powerful among us, even he dared not stand against the will of King Ulther and Empress Elsara. For years we labored, exerting all our skill and effort in an attempt to destroy the Great Stones. But no matter how many of us came together, no matter what runes we chanted or sundered, we could do no harm to the Stones. A few said that rather than destroy the Stones, we should use them for good. Kelephon was chief among them. I imagine even then he was scheming a way to gain the Stones for himself. However, though he was the most powerful among us, even he dared not stand against the will of King Ulther and Empress Elsara. For years we labored, exerting all our skill and effort in an attempt to destroy the Great Stones. But no matter how many of us came together, no matter what runes we chanted or sundered, we could do no harm to the Stones.

In the end, the only way we were able to damage the Stones was by seeking out blood sorcerers in the far south. Three came back with us to Malachor, enticed by gold, and working together they were able to remove a single grain from Gelthisar. However, in the process, all three were slain. And when the grain they had removed came in contact with Gelthisar, it bound itself to the Stone, becoming one with it again.

Travis squeezed his fingers around the Stones. So that was how Dakarreth had managed to remove two grains from Krondisar. The Necromancer's magic-like the magic of all the New G.o.ds-was of the south, and born ultimately of blood sorcery.

Do you see it's no use, Travis? The Stones are greater than any of us. There is nothing you can do to destroy them.

Could that really be true? Travis remembered a story he had read long ago, about terrible rings of power that only a dragon's breath could destroy.

No, Travis-the dragons ever loathed to come near the Great Stones. The Gordrim are older than the world, but the Imsari are older yet. The dragons have no power over them. And it's a good thing. You heard what the scholar you spoke with this morning said. Breaking apart things is dangerous, and there is nothing more primal, more powerful than the Imsari. What if you really were somehow to break them?

A jolt of fear coursed through Travis. What had Professor Sparkman said? Something about how a chain reaction, if nothing stopped it, could go on forever. . . .

Travis swallowed the sickness in his throat, then put the Stones back into their iron box and shoved it into his pocket. He started trudging down the bike path.

What are you going to do now, Travis?

"I don't know, Jack." He felt tired and hollow. "I can't destroy the Stones, and I can't take them back to Eldh. And if I try to leave Denver to find the gate they've created, Duratek will catch me."

By Durnach's Hammer, what are you talking about, Travis? Didn't you hear the voices on the contraption your scholar friend was listening to this morning?

Travis shook his head. What was Jack talking about? The voices on Sparkman's receiver hadn't said anything that could help him, though they had belonged to Duratek agents-he was sure of that. No one else on Earth would make a communications code out of Eldhish words- He stopped in his tracks.

Eldhish words. He had set the silver half-coin down, then had listened to them speak something in a mixture of English and Eldhish. He wracked his brain, trying to remember.

They said they were heading to the taldaka taldaka location, location, Jack said. Jack said. And they also made mention of a And they also made mention of a senlath senlath.

The silver half-coin, in his pocket now, worked its magic, translating the Eldhish words. Senlath Senlath meant priest. And meant priest. And taldaka taldaka was . . . was . . .

"Gate," Travis murmured. "They were talking about the gate. It's not somewhere else in the world. It's here in Denver."

Which meant there was a way to stop Duratek after all.

Hope rekindled in Travis, bringing with it new energy. He started moving once more, jogging along the river path. "I have to go see Sparkman again, Jack. I have to listen to his receiver and monitor their transmissions. If I do, maybe I can learn exactly where in Denver they've hidden the gate."

Very well, Travis. But do be careful. Night is coming soon, and it's not safe to be out alone in this city.

"It's all right, Jack. I'll be meeting up with . . ." What were Jay and Marty? He had only met them last night, so they couldn't be friends, could they? ". . . with some guys I know. We'll stick together."