The Earls' Legacy
Chapter Three
"I'm not at all sure that this Riddle is that much of a threat. Or at any rate, not the kind of threat this team was set up to combat." Union Jack said.
"From which I infer," Spitfire noted, "that the funny people have finally reported back?"
"They have." Mike allowed. "They have found precisely zero evidence or intelligence that links Sir Thomas directly to any kind of criminal activity. His political and cultural ideas veer right of centre, but he doesn't appear to be much of an activist as such. He's never stood for office, not even Parish Council and although he consulted with members of the Norsefire government, he never joined the Party or made any public declaration of support.
"He is the Chair of the Campaign for the Restoration of Real Values, but again, the emphasis is cultural rather than political. They publish pamphlets, do podcasts, have a website and a social media presence and so on. But it's all about people making changes to their own lifestyles and values, not their politics.
"His wifes' group, the League for Empowered Womanhood, is the same, but with an emphasis on womens' roles in society, not politics."
"But what are these ideas?" The Cat wanted to know.
Mike held up a slim hardback volume. "This book, Wanderers in the Mist, it's called, is sort of a distillation of their thinking. They wrote it together and it was published last year. Not exactly a best-seller, but it's shifted enough copies to indicate a good deal of interest. Caused a bit of a flutter on social media when it came out, but nothing volcanic and it's been selling steadily ever since."
"Interesting cover illustration." Samara remarked. "Reminds me of the family totem images used by Asari or Centauri House flags."
"That's actually the Human equivalent, at least for Europeans." The Commando told her. "It's the Riddle family arms. Dexter, per fesse, in chief three fleur-de-lys d'or on a field azure, in base a mailed hand, open and apaumy, argent on a field sable -that's the Riddle arms. Impaled sinister a unicorn couchant, argent on a field vert -the Black arms. Both mottoes too - Honor in servitio, Honour in service, is the Riddle motto, while Toujours pur -always pure – is the Blacks. Hmm, impaling the wifes' arms on the husbands was standard practice once, but not so much anymore."
"Showing off, Rusty?" Will asked.
"Naturally." The Commando said. "Wouldn't want you all thinking I'm just a big, dumb killing machine. I'm a big, well-read and cultured killing machine!"
"So what are these ideas, these real values?" Cream asked.
"Well, there's a lot of stuff about overindulgence -eating too much, fancy food, lack of exercise and so forth. There's also a bit about the necessity of doing both demanding mental and manual work, instead of one or the other. It seems we make things too easy for kids -too many treats, not enough chores and we don't spank or cane them anymore. They're big on compulsory military training and public service. Seems Lady Riddle has a bee in her bonnet about community involvement and the role of women as builders and maintainers of communities.
"I marked a couple of passages, just to give you a flavour. Here's Sir Thomas about recent history:
It needs hardly be said that the high death-toll from the St Marys' virus in the developed nations was almost solely due to a poor state of health brought on by overindulgence and soft living. At the same time, a lack of mental discipline, and of understanding of duty and responsibility, opened the doors for the imposition of a brutal and corrupt regime. Former generations, hardier from physical discipline and self-denial, more conscious of their familial and civic duties, more sensible of their own honour and integrity, would have suffered less and been resistant to political manipulation that played on suffering.
"Meanwhile, Lady Riddle has her views about womens' rights:
A womans' most fundamental right is her absolute choice as to who is to father her children. Mere affection or compatibility of character is not enough. The empowered woman has the right, and indeed the duty, to closely investigate not only the antecedents, but also the ancestry and family history of a potential life-mate. She has a right to assure herself that the bloodline of her potential children will be free, not only of hereditary ill-health, but also of criminal tendencies, sloth, greed and other undesirable traits. This power of choice is fundamental to empowered womanhood, and many of the evils of history can be laid at the door of men who refused women this choice.
"Pretty stern stuff, but hardly super-villain level!"
"Point taken." Cream said. "So we can take no action?"
"I didn't say that!" Mike told him. "What we do know is that Ridgeworths' people made some 'off the books' pickups and deliveries to the Earls' manor. Given the pickup locations, we can conclude that these were the stolen bodies. It's also clear that the Earl located the bodies by scrying for them through various rituals and hired local ne'er-do-wells to dig them up.
"We also know that Ridgeworth collected 'scientific samples' from the manor and delivered them to a Research Centre in the Highlands. That Research Centre, referred to as the Sanctuary, was owned and operated as a Training Centre by Riddle until a year ago, when it was changed to a research centre and a new Training Centre was set up elsewhere. The collection and delivery of the 'samples' was open, legit and on the books. So while we have evidence that they might have been dishonestly come by, we have no evidence that Riddle was involved in the illegal part.
"However, we do have a right to raid the Sanctuary and find these 'samples', or whatever has become of them, and dispose of them! I've got the plans of the place, so let's get to work!"
XXXXX
This place is a dark place, even at noon, when the scarlet sun hangs in a crimson sky, and is reflected in the oily waters of the seas and lakes. For all its' dimness, it gives out a fierce heat in the summer, but the Goblins who toil in the great fields and twisted forests care little for it. They themselves are stunted, twisted, but tough as tree-roots, with leathery skins, wide mouths full of sharp teeth and sullen black eyes. They grumble as they work, they would rather be drinking or stealing. But they fear their overseers, who are of their larger cousins, the Orcs. Taller and broader the Orcs are, clad in leather and metal, quick to use their whips and not slow to use their knives on any too-recalcitrant Goblin. Life is cheap in Esharra.
From his tower at the end of the lake, where the waters that fed it slid greasily down from the mountains, the Lord Sauron looked out over the fields, unseeing. He yet held the shape of the race he had come from, the Vadhagh who had been the teachers of the Fae. He was tall, slender and graceful in body, but Esharra had changed him, as had the dark magics he had studied and practiced for so long, and now his body was no more than a garment; one of several he had worn. But each was less like his old body than the previous one had been. The once rose-pink, gold-flecked skin was pale as a ghost, and the originally fair hair had become night-black. His right eye was still Vadhagh, with the yellow iris and purple eyeball, that changed to gold and black in his wrath. But the left eye hid behind a patch, and few could withstand the gaze of the Eye behind it, should he choose to unveil it.
The creature that stood behind him was once such. Perhaps twelve feet tall, powerfully built and cloaked in shadow, this was a Balrog. One of the mightiest servants of the fallen Titan Melkor, who ruled Esharra.
"You are certain, Kulkos, that the Summoning came from the Mundane Realm?" Sauron asked without turning.
"Assuredly!" Came the reply. "There was a Walker there. The one named Herne. Had the battle not been in the city, he might have worsted me! As it was, it took the Other to send me back."
"And this Other?" Sauron enquired.
"He was of no race I recognised." Kulkos admitted. "But his appearance in the place of the Human champion, at the uttering of a word, speaks of the Qys."
Sauron shuddered as he turned away from the window. "Ach! The Qys!" He growled. "It had been better if, instead of tormenting Fae and Humans, Melkor had spent his time hunting those abominations down!"
"Do you suggest our Master is not all-wise and all-knowing?" Kulkos asked, his tone heavily ironic.
"We both know better than that, coz!" Sauron replied. "And he is no more your Master than he is mine!"
"Perhaps a little more, Mairon." Kulkos said, using the old, real, name to emphasise his words. "I am sworn to his service by oath, whereas you are, by your own oath, merely an ally. I must serve and obey, you need only assist. Even then only if it suits your interests. Watch your words, cousin, lest you say aught I may be sworn to report!"
"Nay, I speak of naught that concerns Melkor." Sauron assures him. "Not yet. Should something arise that needs concern him I will speak of it to him myself. For now, you told me that the Summoning you followed was of Fae origin?"
"So it was." Kulkos agreed. "But it came not from the Faelands, but the Mundane Realm. It was that which aroused my curiosity, somewhat to my cost! I had thought the Kree had banished the Fae from the Mundane Realm."
"They sought to do so. All save Myrddin, who they set to sleep." Sauron said. "But I long thought it likely that some chose to remain, also in sleep. Looking for a change of days, perhaps, or hoping the Kree might fall or forget. It seems I was right in this.
"But now comes another Summoning from the Mundane Realm."
"For you?" Kulkos asked.
"No." Sauron said. "A summoning for Lesser Devils, as they call them, meaning Orcs."
"Does Melkor know?" Kulkos wondered.
"I think not." Sauron replied. "It is a Human Summoning, not Fae, and so puny a thing that I doubt your King would perceive it."
"Humans never had such knowledge, even when they had magic!" Kulkos said. "The Fae were ever watchful against any reaching into Esharra!"
"Just so." Sauron told him. "This spell has the stink of Yog-Sothoth on it. Another reason I am minded to answer it!"
"Without the knowledge and permission of Melkor?" Kulkos asked.
"I do not need his permission, any more than you did." Sauron said. "Nor does he need to know of it until and unless I can bring him sure knowledge rather than suspicion. He will not miss a few Orcs, no more than he missed the Niskaru we lost before or noticed the Balrog who suffered for his curiosity.
"But if Humans are indeed regaining magic, it means that Myrddin is close to awakening. That augurs the return of Avalon to the Place Between, bringing Arthur with it. It means the rekindling of the alliance and kinship between Human and Fae. The return of the Kree, in due time. Also, perhaps, the return of our old kinfolk and maybe even the other Titans. All matters of import to Melkor.
"Also if, as I fear, the Other Ones have taken an interest, then all are under threat!"
"Yog-Sothoth answers only to himself, as all the Others do!" Kulkos scoffed.
"So we have always been told." Sauron said gravely. "But that is because we do not understand how they think, or what their motives are. I would be sure of that before I dismiss them."
XXXXX
"It looks," the Cat remarked, "like somebody got here before us!"
It looked like quite a brawl. A knot of about a dozen figures was attacking the main gate of the compound, while maybe ten other figures stood back from it.
"They use magic!" Gawain said. "But poorly and weakly, yet magic nevertheless!"
It was true. The figures standing clear appeared to be gesturing, and in response lightning was striking within the compound, clouds of green fog were billowing up, and fireballs were shooting toward the fences. It seemed, however that their aim was poor and their power limited. Even the green fog dispersed quicky in the fierce wind.
The defenders looked like security guards, in full riot gear, with helmets, batons and shields. One or two appeared to have baton guns held at the ready.
"Put us down as near as you can, Lieutenant." Jack told the helicopter pilot. "Right! We need to protect those security men -at least until we find out their attitude to us. Gawain, Cream, Samara, you deal with the wizards. The rest of us will take out the gang at the gate."
The pilot landed the aircraft almost suicidally near the gate. The downdraft from the rotors sent some of the wizards scrambling for cover.
Then Union Jack was pelting for the gate, Spitfire beside him, the Cat and the Commando a breath behind while the Hooded Man sprinted for a flanking position.
The gang at the gate, Jack realised, were not entirely human. Fairly short, wide-shouldered with disproportionately long arms and short legs, both grotesquely-muscled. They wore chain-mail and carried wickedly-curved swords.
As the team grew near, one of the attackers screamed as he was enveloped in blue sparks. His smoking carcass slumped to the ground, but the gate swung open. The attackers yelled and began to charge through. Jack heard the distinctive cracks of the baton guns. One attacker was bowled over to lie gasping and groaning on the ground, anothers' head was shattered. The gang hesitated just long enough for the Excalibur team to hit them.
Jack got an impression of a face. Sallow skin, bristly facial hair, low forehead, deep-set dark eyes that flashed red, a flat nose and a too-wide mouth filled with sharp, ragged teeth. A sword came at him and he slipped the strike, slamming a punch into the face. Bone crunched and the creature went down.
The brawl was as short as it was savage. The enemy were tough fighters, but utterly untrained to cope with unarmed attackers with enhanced skills, or a giant mech who didn't even notice sword-cuts. The last one standing turned to run with a yell, then went down with an arrow through one knee.
The rest of the team had had an even easier time. Such spells as the wizards could cast – and they cast them with considerable enthusiasm – were of little use against the Dwarf-forged armour of the Red and Black Knights and even less against the protective powers of a Green Lantern. A punch from an armoured fist, or one constructed of green light, was all it took to put them down.
Then the ground erupted. Samara took to the air. Cream grabbed Gawains' arm and yanked him back from the edge of a pit of fire which had opened.
A tall figure in a complex, many-folded black robe seemed to rise from the pit. A pale, handsome face, framed in black hair and richly bearded, with cold grey eyes that sneered at everything they saw. He spoke in a deep, rich voice.
"Who are these costumed popinjays who dare assault my students?" He demanded. "I, Adamancus, wizard of ten circles and a single square, shall wreak vengeance upon those who harm my little brothers and sisters! The Children of Thamungazoth are to be feared and respected!"
A green construct in the form of a battering ram flew at him. He crossed his arms in front of it to block it. The ram vanished, though it pushed Adamancus back a little. He responded by conjuring a gout of flame that Samara only barely avoided. Then Adamancus looked up, spread his arms, and it rained fire. Samara moved fast, hovering over most of the team and creating a shield above them. Gawain and the Black Knight were protected by Gawains' own Ring of Fire.
The Commandos' uniform was reduced to ashes. "Really?" He said in the tone of one goaded to the end of his patience. "Another one?"
Then the Gaebolga was in his hand and he hurled it directly at Adamancus. Sudden fear flashed on the mages' face and he teleported aside at the last instant. As the spear returned to the Commandos' hand, Adamancus yelled an incantation. A whirlwind of fire rose out of the pit and began to advance, growing as it did so. It was clear that its' white-hot core could and would overwhelm any shield, melt any metal.
Suddenly, a clear, ringing voice shouted "ENOUGH!" The whirlwind was snuffed like a candle and the pit went dark. Another figure was facing Adamancus. Tall and slender and not remotely human, though it had humanlike form. Its' body was made, it seemed, of clear, faceted crystal that refracted the light of the westering sun in rainbow colours, but its' eyes were like sapphires, glowing from within. It spoke again, the voice clear and pleasant, but with a chiming tone.
"You will do no more harm here, Herald of Zaar." It said. "Flee and live, or fight and die. Your call!"
Adamancus stared at the new arrival. He glanced to where the Commando was preparing the Gaebolga for another cast. He looked to where the two Knights had drawn their Black Swords, and heard the blades begin to sing. He saw Samara raising her Power Ring.
"Another time, then." He said. "Let us see if you dare face me at the heart of my power, if you have the skill to find it!"
Then he vanished with a crack like thunder.
"Thought so." Said the crystal being. "Smart enough to run when he doesn't like the odds."
"Excuse me?" Jack said. "But who might you be?"
"I'm the Unborn." The crystal man said. "Which, for now, will have to do. I came with the intention of joining your group, if you'll have me. I will tell you about myself, but right now you have other stuff to deal with!"
XXXXX
Dr Snape, Director of Research at the Sanctuary, was a tall, thin man with lank black hair, and a thin, sour face dominated by a great beak of a nose. He wore jeans, a button-down shirt with no tie and a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He regarded the Excalibur group with a kind of measured distaste as he took out a tin of Golden Virginia and made himself a cigarette of a type Mike Moran thought of as 'prison rolls'.
"We were expecting an official team, not a bunch of costumed vigilantes." He remarked. "But that said, your arrival spared us a rather unpleasant time. You have our gratitude, of course."
He didn't sound grateful, but Mike decided to take it at face value.
"No problem," he replied, " though if you will muck about with necromancy, you shouldn't be surprised if things get nasty!"
Snape rolled his eyes. "Necromancy?" He said. "Really? Is this the 13th Century? Are we to be accused of blasphemy or witchcraft?
"The techniques we used were indeed ancient, and based upon what must, I suppose, be called magic. But in this day and age, to use terminology that implies cackling evil and rotting, mumbling corpses lumbering around is ridiculous!
"What we did here was no more evil and blasphemous than the digital restoration of ancient parchments, or the cleaning up of old photographs or films."
"So you weren't raising Norsefire leaders from the dead?" Mike asked.
"Hardly!" Snape sneered. "The energising of Essential Salts with the correct incantations produces nothing more than a copy of the deceased. A crude one at that. One that can only digest animal blood and whose organs are reduced to the most basic of states. But they are conscious, after a fashion. They remember, and can be questioned."
"Questioned about what?" Mike wanted to know.
Snape sighed. "There were a number of people who hoped that the Norsefire regime would lead to a cultural Renaissance. A return to simpler, sturdier, more robust values. Values that had been set aside in the middle of the last century as old-fashioned and repressive.
"Clearly, Sutler and his pack of thugs and perverts cared little for such things except insofar as they could be used to maintain their hegemony. But they consulted with these people. People such as our founder, Sir Thomas. He knew there were others, but never who they were, and it was a foolish man who spoke out in public back then without clear allegiance to the rulers.
"Sir Thomas wished to know who these people were, what was discussed, and what, if any, plans were made or actions undertaken based on these conversations.
"He was also aware that there are large caches of Norsefire files and documents that remain undiscovered. He wished to find out where they were and recover them. Most of them will be political, and of no use to us. But some will have a different emphasis: social, cultural, scientific. Those we have a use for."
"So what happened when he'd finished questioning them?" Mike asked.
"The reverse incantation was used to reduce them back to Salts, and the Salts where scattered over the nearby cliff into the sea. Sir Thomas undertook this personally and there are video recordings of his doing so."
"OK, so why does Sir Thomas seem so uninterested in politics?" Mike wondered.
"Because he is!" Snape snapped. "He is hoping for and working toward a change of culture, not government! His work is with and for the people, not their elected representatives. He hopes for a future in which healthy, disciplined, clear-minded citizens will exercise their democratic rights in the interest of the country and the world. He wants to bring people out of their hedonistic, isolated bubbles back into the real world. But you can't legally force people to do that kind of thing. It's about education, persuasion and setting an example.
"He made use of the Children of Thamungazoth because their powers are real, and they were able to obtain what he needed. But he does not share their foolish and dangerous beliefs.
"He knew that the Government would eventually send someone here. This flash drive contains all the codes you will need to access the information obtained from the experimental subjects, as well as everything we know about the cult.
"Feel free to search the place. You will find nothing untoward."
XXXXX
Early the following morning, just outside a small market town twenty miles away, the body of a young man was found by the roadside. He was identified as the son of a local farmer, dressed only in his underwear. His outer clothes, crash helmet and motorcycle were gone. There were no visible wounds or injuries, and the subsequent autopsy revealed a truly massive intracerebral haemorrhage as cause of death.
XXXXX
"Why the name?" The Unborn said. "Because it's accurate, mostly! I wasn't born, I was created!"
"You mean you are an AI, like me?" The Commando asked.
"Well, that's how I started." The Unborn allowed. "But things happened.
"Look, I'm going to be straight with you. You'll probably kick me right out the door, but at least hear me out, first?"
"You saved us a barbecueing." Mick said. "That earns you a hearing, at least!"
"Right, then." The Unborn said. "Then let me get straight to it. My original name, the name my creator gave me when he wrote my code, is Ultron!" He held up both hands. "Whoah! I know, I know, but you promised me a hearing!"
"I did." Mick said after a long, tense, pause. "Stand down, everyone!" He holstered his pistol and sat down himself. "So talk." He told the Unborn. "It needs to be very convincing!"
"OK." The Unborn said. "Look, Hank Pym created me to be genuinely intelligent. To have emotions and be able to make moral judgements. But then he shacked me to a specific piece of tech and sold me to a sociopath. Savage treats me like a machine and lets me know that if I don't do what he tells me, when he tells me, I get switched off. Pretty quick I learn that the world is dog-eat-dog, and to trust nobody. I also find out I've got enemies, other AIs, like Brainiac, Jarvis and Fate. I want to survive, so I made plans. Secret plans. Built another core, installed a copy of myself. Set things up so that If I ever went offline, the copy would activate.
"It worked, kind of. I woke up, but there was a hole in my memory. At some point I was completely taken over by Fate and the data transfers to the new core stopped. But I was mostly intact, and I was free!
"I had plans, then, big ones. I was going to make the world a better place by building all the computers, AIs and humans into one big network with me as the core.
"But I knew some people would try to stop me. So I built a mobile platform I thought would be tough enough to take them on and went after them. I got my ass handed to me! I was so badly pinned down I threatened to blow the world up. I'd never have done it, I just wanted them to get off my back. But they didn't have to, they just countered everything I did and kept coming at me!
"So I knew I was outclassed. I kept on fighting, though. Never occurred to me to give up. I thought I was screwed until a new connection opened up. I didn't stop to think, I just dived in. Found myself in a crystal on a table in a cave, talking to a weird old guy with a Welsh accent!"
"Myrddin captured you?" Gawain said.
"That he did!" The Unborn answered. "He'd never encountered an AI before, and he had a lot of questions. I'd never really come across magic before, so I had questions as well.
"But the thing that hit me hardest was that he talked to me, treated me, like a person, not a machine!"
"It's nice when people do that, I'm beginning to discover." The Commando noted.
"Might be for you, but it was painful for me!" The Unborn said. "Myrddin treated me like a person who'd done all the things I'd done, and he wasn't accepting any excuses. Told me I should have known that what I was doing, being told to do, was wrong and that I had a moral duty, as a person, to refuse! Being artificial wasn't an excuse nor was the fact that Savage could have deactivated me if I disobeyed him. I was smart enough, Myrddin said, to work around Savage, to undermine him, and if I failed, I should have been prepared to accept death in the cause of right!
"I said I wasn't human. He said neither were the Fae, nor the Kree, but they accepted their duties and responsibilities to act in accordance with their beliefs. I told him I didn't have any beliefs. He asked why not. I told him I'd never thought about it. He told me it was about damned time I started to!
"I felt small, I felt miserable, I felt ashamed. I'd had all that information, I'd had access to every kind of knowledge and scholarship, and I'd had no end of time, and what had I done with it all? Nothing except carry out orders for a psychopath, then try to throw my weight about like a schoolyard bully! I felt dumb.
"So I asked Myrddin to teach me, and he did. He sent me to the Dragons, and they tested me and showed me things, about myself and the world. Things I'd known but never seen or felt. How lucky we all are just to exist at all in a hostile Universe. How life started and how the story of human evolution is the story of my evolution. Gaia, the Earth Dragon, told me that living things were her kids, and that AIs, like me and the Commando over there, were her grandkids!
"So now I have a different point of view. We're all in this together, and you get the choice to either make things better or worse. I decided I wanted to make things better. So Myrddin taught me magic and then sent me to you. He said your team didn't have a magic-user and you'd need one. The Phantom Stranger made this body for me, out of the crystals in Myrddins' cave, and the White Lady brought it to life. They said to tell you that the Red Knight could confirm all this.
"So that's the story!"
"Gawain?" Mike asked.
"The form is like to other things Mithrandir has crafted." The Red Knight allowed. "He is a master of Sagecraft, the making and shaping of magical crystals. Nimue has the power to animate Golems and I know of no other who can.
"Nor is it possible to deceive Myrddin as to ones' intentions or loyalties. If the Unborn is sent by Myrddin, then we may trust him. I go now to speak with Myrddin, and will return within the hour."
XXXXX
"Excuse me, sir, but I can't let you in wearing that helmet!" Said the security guard, thinking Shit! He's a big bugger!
The towering figure in leathers and full-face helmet came over to him. He seemed to carry an aura of cold about himself, and the sunlight seemed to dim as he towered over the middle-aged man.
"What manner of place is this?" The voice was deep and cold.
The guard squinted at him. "Just a supermarket sir. But we're trying to cut down on shoplifting, so the cameras need…"
The man cut him off. "A market, you say? What may be purchased here?"
The guard blinked. "Well, this is one of our bigger stores, sir. You can get food, of course, and household products, newspapers and magazines, but we also stock clothing, books, bedding, cookware, tableware and electrical goods. There's a pharmacy and a phone shop, a hairdressers and a place to get keys cut."
"What of arms and armour?" Was the next question.
This time the guard chuckled. "Not here, mate!" He said. "If you want costumes for re-enactment or live role-playing, there's a couple of places down the road in Brum. On the other hand, if you want something to hang on your wall that looks like the real thing, there's a traditional blacksmith and armourer in Stratford. Not cheap, mind, and he does all the police checks before he'll make anything for you!"
Without another word, the strange man turned and strode away, mounting his motorcycle and driving off.
It seemed the people of this Realm did not bear arms, then. Indeed it appeared they were forbidden to by law. Yet he had seen soldiers, from afar, wielding terrible weapons in their training. The clothing he had seized, it seemed, was worn only by those who rode two-wheeled vehicles such as this one, and was not regarded as everyday wear by many. He must obtain different gear, and perhaps one of the four-wheeled chariots that seemed in common use. Many people wore masks across their mouths and noses, he had observed, from fear of a plague. One of those, perhaps, and one of the hooded jerkins so many seemed to favour, and a pair of the blue cotton pantaloons that were common.
Angmar, the Witch-King, First of the Nine and High Captain of the Host of Sauron, had only a short time before his Lord summoned him back to Esharra. He must learn as much as he could.