Warlock

surprised by the sight of the giant Mace or by the realization that the Shaker was expecting them, it was difficult to say. But when they were led to the study and seated to wait for the Shaker, they fidgeted like laborers at a king's dance and sipped only lightly at the fine brew which had been supplied them in ceramic mugs.
        
        A moment later, the Shaker entered, with Gregor in tow, both of them dressed impressively. Gregor now wore a gray robe much like a monk's habit, with a silver chain about his neck and another such length belted round his waist. But his garments did not serve to enhance his appearance so much as they pointed up the power and enigma of the Shaker. Sandow was robed in the purest black cloth, so dark that it gleamed with a blue metallic light along its creases. His gray hair and contrasting black beard flowed over a rolled collar decorated with archaic signs stitched to impress the uninitiated as much as anything. The Shaker's hands were gloved in the sheerest silk the color of freshly spilled blood.
        
        The two officers rose and bowed, and seemed relieved when Sandow waved them to their seats again. “As few formalities as possible,” the old man said. “I am not one for protocol.”
        
        “We appreciate your hospitality, your ale,” the commander said. “My name is Solvon Richter, and this is Captain Jan Belmondo who has been with me in General Dark's forces for some months now.”
        
        The Shaker introduced Mace and Gregor, completing the few rituals attendant such a situation. “And now,” said the Shaker, “what business of General Dark's brings you all this way from the sea?”
        
        “Pardon me if I pry,” Richter said, “but I must know why you expected us. Your man, Mace, said that you did.”
        
        “I am, you understand, a Shaker,” Sandow said, smiling. “A Shaker knows many things.”
        
        “But surely your power does not extend beyond the Banibals!” young Belmondo said, leaning forward in his chair.
        
        “At times, it does,” Shaker Sandow said. “I test it every day, hoping that the perimeters of my ability will extend through exercise. I found your squad's presence some two days before you reached the nether slopes of Banibal ridge.”
        
        Old Richter nodded as if this was just what one might have expected. “The General would not choose any but the best of Shakers,” he said.
        
        “Unless your ale requires replenishment,” Sandow said, “perhaps we could proceed. What does the good General wish of me?”
        
        “But if you could reach us two days from the west of the Banibals,” Belmondo said, “you must know our purpose here as well.”
        
        The Shaker smiled tolerantly. “As you know, the powers of a Shaker can be, at the same time, both amazing and limited. I saw your advancing troops, and in the surface of the minds of some of you, I saw that we might soon be crossing the Cloud Range to the east. But that is all. The details escaped me, just as a man without his reading spectacles can obtain the gist of a printed page before him but cannot stay with it long enough to understand its full purpose.”
        
        Richter took a long draught of his brew, then set the mug on the table next to his chair. “We will expect, Shaker, the fullest honesty from you and the guarantee of your sealed lips-and the sealed lips of your apprentice and assistant.”
        
        “You have those,” Shaker Sandow assured him.
        
        “Very well. Here in Perdune, as in few other villages separated from the rest of the country by the Banibals news comes slowly. No doubt, you have not heard of the border incidents between Darklands and our neighboring country to the north, Oragonia. Oragonia tests our strength on the borderlands, but does not launch an actual invasion. A few dozen troops have perished in these insane skirmishes.”
        
        “Odd,” Shaker Sandow said. “Oragonia has neither the resources nor the population of the Darklands, and she would surely lose a war if that's what she's considering.”
        
        “Bear with me,” Richter said. “Our spies in Oragonia have reported strange events in recent months. In the streets of the enemy capital, in the darkest moments of the morning, wheeled vehicles have been seen in transport-without benefit of horses.”
        
        The room was