The Great Light (Pt. 3)

Chapter 3: Visits

“Diese, old friend, are you really surprised that one of them recognized you? They are the brightest of all the children in the Sphere, and you are a legend, after all.” The silver-bearded man came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the quadrangle, and tapped out the tobacco from his spent pipe. “I’m more interested in that miniature you put together. They ought to preserve that in the Hall of Marvels. I mean it, fabulous craftsmanship. I thought you were a mage, and not a master Weaver?”

“Well, after three-hundred-and-fifty-two years of practice, even a mage can produce a reasonable model like that,” but Diesen’s modest reply was not matched by the glow of pride that briefly lit up his face. “... but as for the children, I didn’t get through half as much material as I would like to. Honestly, Albin, I swear that they were absolutely unruly before I put that weave together. I envy your skill at teaching, though I won’t lie - I am glad that I’ve finally discharged this year’s duty to the Society.”

He began to pace across the grass again as Albin cleaned out his pipe. The other mage ahemmed and pointed to two arm-like struts sticking from a nearby wall.  “Diese... Diesen, aren’t you... forgetting someone?”

Diesen span around and nodded, eyes wide. “Ah yes, yes! How could I forget Gargonel?”

He strode over to the wall and tapped the struts firmly. The arms moved, lurched forward, as something pulled itself out of the wall. Albin watched at a safe distance as the giant stone-demon emerged and dusted itself.

“Um, boss, we done ‘ere or what?” Its voice was deep and slow, its movements jerky and almost mechanical. Albin rested his hand against his chin and wondered why Diesen put up with such a dull-witted familiar. Then again, he had heard many a tale about Gargonel’s incredible strength and near-invincibility. How he had once carried a delirious Diesen fifteen hundred miles across the desert of Tumble; how he had fought his way through an army of a thousand fire-biters to bring his master Malt’s summons to arms against the Black God; how he had crushed the skull of An’doraxthi, the diamond-built Guardian of Te Basa. There were no doubts about the usefulness of this... thing from the lower planes, but how could Diesen put up with its rank stupidity? Albin shook his head at his own thoughts as the two rejoined him in the centre of the lawn.

“And how are you faring, Gargonel? Does your master often forget you?”

The giant picked at its ear as he considered Albin’s remarks, taking a full minute to bring out a reply in his lugubriously paced tone. “Well, uh, he ain’t too bad, I guess. Left me in a cave for two years, but it was a nice cave. Lots to eat. Rats. Bugs. You know, tasty things.”

Albin shuddered briefly, before turning back to Diesen. “So... now you’ve finished here, what now, old friend? Galavanting off on some mission for the Emperor? Swimming the void whale-back till you reach the Light?”

He grinned broadly at his friend as Diesen shook his head. “Nothing quite so exciting this time, Alb. I’m just going up to the Portal Room and blinking straight back home. No more adventures for me. You’ve seen my cottage, right? It’s a perfect place for meditation, gathering together all my experiences and thoughts and feelings. I’ve reached that time of life when I’ll maybe take an apprentice; perhaps that young girl who knew about the sparks. She seems a very bright thing indeed.”

Albin glanced sceptically at him. “Retirement, Diese? I don’t believe you for one moment. But...” The tower bell rang five times. “... It’s already mid-morning, and that is the call to class. I shall leave you to whatever scheme you have brewing.” With that, Albin turned with a wave of his hand. When the robed mage had crossed the quadrangle and entered one of the ancient archways, Gargonel turned to Diesen.

“Of all the wretched conditions you impose on me to be your familiar, acting like an idiot in front of other people is the one I hate the most.”

The mage waved his hand dismissively. “This again, Gargonel? Can you not moan about something else for once? If you carry on, I’ll make sure there’s always someone else present with us.”

The conversation had the air of something often rehearsed, a meaningless complaint and an empty threat. Gargonel grunted.

“What are we really going to do? Albin is right: you’re not going back to the cottage, are you? What are you up to now?”

Diesen simply grinned, and walked towards the west courtyard. Gargonel thumped after him, leaving giant footprints in the freshly mowed grass. Entering one of the smaller towers, they climbed the stairs to a broad chamber. The sides of the room were painted brightly with arcane symbols, and the transparent pipes that hung over their heads pumped mixtures of ether into a grand machine that sat against the back wall, covered in dials.

The machine’s operator stood with an arm laid lazily against one of its wooden supports. As Diesen entered he straightened himself and glared blearily at the mage.

“You wanting a portal, Sir?” he intoned monotonously. “Society Members and their familiars get free travel if they show their card.”

“Yes, yes,” Diesen snapped, rifling through the pockets of his robe before drawing out a yellowed scrap of parchment. “Make a hole to Pearne, and do it now, please.”

The operator sauntered over and glanced at the card without registering it. Giving a curt nod, he wondered back to the machine, twisted a couple of dials, first left, then right. Seemingly satisfied, he hit a large red button. The machine coughed into life, and the pipes overhead strained and sang as an additional flow of ether flowed through them.

On the ground in the centre of the room, a faint pentagram had been etched. As the machine grunted and groaned, the lines of the pentagram suddenly began to glow a bright red. As the lines increased in intensity, a small hole started to appear in the air above it, constantly growing larger and larger until it stood man-sized.

“Enjoy your trip, sir.” The operator touched his hand to his head in a mock salute. Diesen approached the portal, and without hesitation leapt through it. Seconds later, his immense rock companion followed, launching himself head first through the gap.

By the time Gargonel had made it through to the other side, Diesen was already stood by the side of the portal, dusting himself off. They had arrived in a forest clearing, all of two whole Discs away.

The stone-demon gritted his teeth and glanced at the hill-top town in the distance. “Pearne? We’ve come to Pearne? Why would we ever come to this miserable place? Unless... wait! Malt?”

Diesen nodded, rubbing his hands together. “I had a special visit in a dream last night. Hurry up, we have a reunion to keep!”

                                                           *

Elsewhere. This place, wherever it is, is no abode of mortals; the highest plane of existence, shimmering eternally. Not with ether, but with pure Light. Otara was floating in the nothingness. She had left behind her human form, and now simply a streak of clear essence. Where was her brother? He had told her he would...

“I’m here, eldest of my sisters.”

She turned to find Dz’Dz, god of Chance and Deceit. He too had come unclothed, his true form a ball of flashing lightning. He was hovering disturbingly close to her.

“You and I have things to discuss, it appears,” she said. “Did you save my son’s life? Did you re-direct him to safety?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my dear,” Dz’Dz said blandly. “Which son? Whatever do you mean by ‘re-direct’?”

Otara snorted in disgust. “You know exactly what I mean. Malt. The Godslayer. My one-time Puppet and my son. You already know I found him. You know he was ambushed. You share my suspicions. Some assassins, mages by the looks of it, tried to kill him by portalling him into the void. Only a god could have interfered with their ritual and brought him safely to solid earth, and I know it wasn’t me. We have our differences, brother, but I know you have some concern for him too. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve helped. So please. Tell me the truth. Did you save him?”

Dz’Dz remained silent, hanging motionless as sparks of electricity spiked into the air. A moment passed before he replied. “It strikes me that you’re asking the wrong question of me. The assassins are important. Discover what you can of them and return to me.” As Otara began to protest, Dz’Dz slowly melted from the plane, leaving behind an irritated goddess and unanswered questions.