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John Dalmas:
excerpts from Book Three, The Lion Returns

In the final novel of a trilogy, to find suitable excerpts is tricky. You risk spoiling the earlier stories for those who haven't read them. However, The Lion Returns is organized into named parts, each with a lead-in, an introduction that tells something about the Part from a different point of view. So mostly I’ll use those lead-ins here, to give you a sense of the story.

Incidentally, Vulkan is a bodhisattva in the form of a half-ton wild boar.
___________________________

Lead-Ins

Part 1—The Plans of Men

The physical universes are not designed for the convenience or pleasure of humans or other incarnate souls. Intelligence, diligence, and good intentions do not necessarily produce security, comfort and pleasure. There are no guarantees.

One can try and one can hope, but one’s expectations are often disappointed. On the other hand, today’s victories sometimes lead to tomorrow’s woes, while out of today’s woes may grow tomorrow’s blessings. The roots of joys and grief can be distant in both time and place. So it is well to be light on your feet, and not too fixed in your desires.

Vulkan to Macurdy,
on the highway to Teklapori
in the spring of 1950

Part 2—The Lion Returns

Kurqôsz stared down from his seven-foot-eight-inch height. His eyes seemed greener, his bristly crest more red, his skin more ivory than Macurdy remembered. His easy laugh was amiable and chilling.

"What then, you ask? Why, we will conquer, as our distant ancestors did in Hithmearc. And do what we please. First of all it will please us to punish the ylver for escaping. Then we will domesticate the other peoples who dwell here, culling the intransigent. Cattle are invariably more profitable than their wild progenitors.

Crown Prince Kurqôsz
in a dream by Curtis Macurdy
while at Wolf Springs

Part 3—A Murmur of Trumpets,
a Mutter of Drums

Looking aft, the old man spoke more to himself than to his grandson. "What the devil is he doing?"

Within his field of vision, more than a score of ships lay to seaward, ships unlike any he’d seen before, tall, with square sails. A light schooner-rigged vessel had separated from them and was closing astern, bearing down on him. In an effort to get out of the way, he steered too closely into the wind, and his small sail luffed, flapping.

His thirteen-year-old grandson sat numb, as if he knew, hands motionless on the sheet. The schooner swerved past, missing them by perhaps two fathoms. At the foredeck rail, a man had a crossbow pointed at them. The boy heard a snap, then a thuck! His grandfather grunted, pitched forward across a coiled trawl line and lay unmoving.

The schooner sent a work boat to pick the boy up. Leaning, one of its men took an ax to the fishing boat, and it settled to the gunnels.

The boy was taken to one of the large ships, where he was questioned by the tallest, most frightening man he’d ever seen. The giant’s accented Yuultal and his own scrublands dialect were not entirely compatible, but the lad did his best. When his interrogator had the information he wanted, the boy was sent to join his grandfather.

Part 4—War: Bloody Beginnings

Among the Voitusotar, succession to the throne is not subject to dispute. A crown prince is selected by what they term the "Soul of the Voitusotar," most often from the family of the existing Crystal Lord.

The nature of the Soul of the Voitusotar is not clear. It appears to be an aspect of the Voitik hive mind, acting upon the total knowledge of the species, but having its own volition....


Talent in sorcery is not held by the Voitusotar to be the supreme virtue. It shares that honor with intelligence. Knowledge, on the other hand, is taken for granted. The hive mind is the receptacle of everything known to the species, and what one knows is available to all. But understanding presents problems, as does accessing specific knowledge only vaguely identified by the seeker. And while the content of that vast repository includes decisions, it does not hold wisdom....

From: The Voitusotar
by Admiral Rister Vellinghuus

Part 5—An Early Winter

Charisma is spiritual, but at the same time it is an artifact of being incarnate.

In the case of Curtis Macurdy, nearly all the variables, including an imposing body, predisposed him to strong charisma. Before his first transit of the Oz Gate, it was not conspicuous. Afterward almost every experience strengthened it, culminating in his victory at the Battle of Ternass, the defeat of the elder Quaie, and the negotiation of peace. All within a few days. Afterward he retreated somewhat from that charisma, particularly after his return to Farside, but when he exercises it, he is difficult to resist.

This guarantees neither his success nor his survival. Certainly not in conflict with Crown Prince Kurqôsz, who is even more charismatic and has far greater resources. But it will enable our friend to forge alliances, and to contend.

From a brief conversation between
Vulkan and Lord Raien Cyncaidh
before Macurdy’s departure from Duinarog

Part 6—Expansion and Intensification

Macurdy awoke to dread, and sat up slowly, not breathing, trying to hold the darkness to him. But it lightened, became a murky, smoky red. There was a smell of burning flesh and hair.

"So! There you are, Herr Montag! You cannot hide from me, not even in your dreams."

It was Kronprinz Kurqôsz. His ears had become horns. With a table fork he raised the cube of raspberry jello that encased Macurdy, and peered closely, his eye enormous. "You thought I did not know who to blame." His low laugh rumbled. "It was you who inconvenienced me in Bavaria, and who burned down my gatehouse. Now you annoy me with your foolish little armies."

His smile was not pleasant. "You will waken soon, and discover this was only a dream. But do not feel relieved. You think you have seen sorcery? When my lightning strikes, I will have your soul in a bottle! With all the others."

From a dream by Curtis Macurdy
in the forest behind Voitik lines

Part 7— Climax and Aftermath

The greatest wizards and sorcerers of antiquity lived and studied under Sorthaelius Halfylvin at Beech Mountain. There a great library of magicks and sorceries was gathered, with extensive notes and commentaries by the masters.

Halfylvin was a powerful mage, but his greatest powers were of intuition, intellect, and discipline. He saw how things interacted, how matters remote to a problem applied to it, and how to test speculations.

He learned to enlarge greatly the power of circles, through configurations, amplification, and control. Configuration being how the members of a circle connected each with the others in the Realm of the Force. But perhaps his greatest advance was to create crystals of power. It is said that a crystal was formed layer on layer, each member of the circle contributing to the spell. Each crystal contained the essence of each member’s soul, harmonizing them all. And only they could use it.

Unfortunately the knowledge was destroyed by the earthquake and firestorm known as Fengel’s Punishment.

From: History of Magicks & Sorceries.
Ylvin manuscript dating from
the 5th century before Exile

Part 8—Closure

The lead-in to Part 8 gives away too much of what precedes it, so I’m including the following abridged excerpt in its place.

(pages 393-396)

When Tsulgax saw the face, he said a single word, a name: "Montag!" Kurqôsz knew at once that Tsulgax was right. Kurt Montag, the German half-wit! But clearly no half-wit after all.

And Montag had been inside his house, his bedroom! Worse, inside his sanctum! Ingenious! Daring! What kind of man could even contemplate the act, let alone carry it off? Before he put him to the torments, he decided, he’d sit down with him, question him. There were things to be learned from him, and at any rate the man would be interesting.

The realizations, along with the long run in the forest, had fired Kurqôsz with a kind of manic exhilaration without canceling his wits. When he reached the manor, he was physically tired, and went to bed, where his mind continued busy. Back in Bavaria, Tsulgax had said that Montag was dangerous, and should be killed. Tsulgax, with no access to the hive mind, and no apparent psychic talent, only his hard, highly trained body and unbending loyalty. His concern over the retarded German had seemed ridiculous. Perhaps, Kurqôsz thought, Tsulgax has a talent I do not: sensing future dangers. He warned me about the ylvin she wolf as well.

He looked back then at Kurt Montag in Bavaria. Had there been signs he should have seen? That should have warned him? None came to him. He focused on the man as first he’d see him: earnest, stupid, and lame. Montag, whose psychic talents were strong only by comparison with the other Germans at the Schloss. He’d even felt a certain fondness for the creature.

Unexpectedly his concentration on Montag’s face clicked in a picture from the hive mind, one Kurqôsz hadn’t seen before: Montag wearing a peculiar uniform—baggy and with many pockets. In Hithmearc, speaking to a guard corporal at the gate shelter! Montag intelligent and self-assured, standing straight, and for a human, tall. This was the man in the raid at Colroi! No wonder he hadn’t recognized him then.

The corporal’s trace in the hive mind ended with his shaking hands with Montag, a shocking pain in the abdomen, and unconsciousness, all virtually at once. Kurqôsz scanned ahead. Days of disaster had followed. Too much had happened in too short a time, and the corporal’s trace had not been investigated. The assumption had been that he’d died in the fire with the others.

Montag! The human was more than intriguing. He was sinister! And how had he come to Vismearc? Perhaps Tsulgax was mistaken. Perhaps this man simply resembled Montag. But no, for that had surely been Montag in the uniform of many pockets. For it not to be him would require nearly impossible coincidences—a Montag in Bavaria, a look alike in Hithmearc, and another here. No, all three were one man. Kurt Montag.

The crown prince swung his long legs out of bed, wrapped himself in his robe, and had the officer of the guard called. And Tsulgax. When they reached his room, he gave them only one order: "Montag must be taken alive! Alive and sound! I have questions to ask him, and he must be able to answer. If anyone kills or sorely wounds him, except on my order, that person will replace him in the torments."


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