The Bavarian Gate By John Dalmas

Abruptly the field collapsed and was gone, as if it hadn’t been, leaving not even a psychic echo. There was no shock wave, and to his eyes, nothing had changed–except that the heap had disappeared. There wasn’t even a hole were it had been.

He collapsed on the ground, and for several minutes lay exhausted, unseeing, numb with relief. He’d timed it right. But there was nothing resembling jubilation. For one thing, he couldn’t be sure-not really sure-that he’d actually destroyed the gate. He might simply have interrupted it, or altered the timing again.

At any rate, the more dangerous task remained.

35

Points of View

Greszak had long since lost any real interest in the training project. Life had grown monotonous, boring, to the point that al looked forward to—all any of them looked forward towas returning to Hithmearc. Next to the boredom, the worst thing about this place was being cut off from the hive mindexcept for the fragment consisting of their own small group. One got used to it, but only to a degree.

For him, the high point had come to be the spring birds caroling in the new day-he’d been getting up at daybreak to hear them-and the low point, this week, been the antics of the human guardsmen bouncing and shouting on the -dawn in some grotesque rite of spring. Watching through a window, he wished them ill as they filed back into the building.

At first, training Germans in magic had seemed a challenge, but had become essentially a defeat. In Hithmearc, training humans in magic had never even been contemplated, of course; first it was undesirable, and secondly, few showed talent. Even in the two races that had-the Saanit and the Ylver-the talent had been quite limited. As a precaution, both peoples had been dispersed–destroyed so far as possible. The remnants of the Saanit had f led into the vast harsh taiga east of the grasslands. While the Ylver who’d survived-the island Ylver–had fled west across the ocean sea, an escape his people would never forgive.

The Germans had no more talent than usual for humans: A few showed one or another ability, but always minor. Still, it had been interesting for a while to see what could be spade of them. Some had gained modestly, but soon reached a limit, perhaps because they lacked the hive mind. The most successful had been the one named Montag–amusing to be named for a calendar day-but even Montag had reached his limit well below adept.

Nonetheless it had heartened Landgraf and Kupfer to send him off against their enemies, and in fact, Montag should prove useful to them. But overall, as a magician he was no more powerful than the Ylvin magicians of ancient record.

Meanwhile Greszak’s staff went through the motions of teaching, while looking forward to going home. The Crown Prince would arrive through the gate shortly, bringing a circle of seven adepts and a power master, and after two days of acclimation and briefing, would send them with the Germans to some meaningless place on the northwest coast, to repel invaders.

And when they’d been sent, the Germans would complete their part of the bargain. They’d already delivered detailed diagrams for building large sailing vessels-their most vital contribution-and had tried to deliver powerful explosives. Now they would deliver tools, models, and less utilitarian artifacts, along with a medicine they claimed to have against seasickness.

It would be interesting to go north themselves, he and his staff, and in an early stage of planning, it had been considered But the Crown Prince had decided otherwise. There were risks, and they all were masters, well beyond the level needed by the Germans; adepts would serve nicely.

A sensation touched Greszak: The gate had begun its daily activation. He felt its energy rising, shaping. In perhaps half an hour, the Crown Prince and the team he was bringing would arrive at the schloss on foot, their disorientation and queasiness repaired by the run.

A bird landed on the window sill and looked in at Greszak. The baron didn’t know the names of Bavarian birds, but this one looked rather like the speckled thrush at home. He grinned at it, and it cocked its head as if to say, “Who are you?”

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