Chapter 1-39 - Riding a Modern Unicorn

I cautiously glanced over the side, unafraid of unbalancing a unicorn.

An endlessly extending and truncating Ward Wall of Wrath, starting two inches in front of the front wheel, two inches wide, and extending all the way to two inches past the back wheel, was forming a road in midair for the motorcycle, straight and level, and obviously perfectly movable to wherever the cycle required.

“Okay, color me impressed.” I paused. “That is exquisite Ward control. How long did it take you to learn how to do that?”

ABOUT TWO YEARS, he admitted. OVER TWO THOUSAND HOURS OF PRACTICE.

Maintaining a static Ward under a moving object that was actually pushing off the Ward... hah, two thousand hours of practice, sure. I could also see it being done and used as steps to Air Walk, or something, but that would be much easier because the total area involved was much, much smaller when you weren’t having to make a continuous surface between points...

“Do you use the same technique for Air-Walking, too?” I inquired.

YES. I HAVE TAKEN MORE THAN A FEW FLIERS BY SURPRISE DOING SO.

I nodded. Very good, indeed. Combine with one-fourth normal gravity, and he could kick up to some real altitude REALLY fast, heavy gravity build combined with low G for some amazing leaping ability.

I looked off to my left, and kicked in some magic sight.

Even the Cantrip-level version could see the containment wall surrounding the Shroudzone, anchored by the Walls that extended across the landscape, centered on the island where the Shroudlord was anchored. It was the reason why the undead couldn’t just go into the water and around the Walls that had been put up.

It wasn’t a strong effect, but it didn’t have to be. All it really did is sever the control links between layers of undead. Since doing that to undead who had been Shrouded instantly compelled them to head back to their controllers, what happened was you got an instant clusterfuck of undead being told to go out, and those who succeeded in doing so immediately trying to go back.

Only a Minister-level undead could successfully deny the effect, but even they would be sharply limited in how far they could go.

Unless the true Shroudlord pressed beyond the Zone, the undead weren’t going anywhere. How many times had the Shroudlord tried to do so, and then been burned away and just ended up back where he started?

More to the point, he might lose control of his lesser Clergy if he violated the containing field of magic, which could set off a struggle for power. Losing connections to his undead meant his status would plummet, and his freed Clergy could grab them and raise their own ranking. Even if it was a Great Shadow, a Dark Minister Great Shadow going up against a Dark Bishop Wight Baron or Wraith King was hosed, and would be forced to submit.

I’d left a small note for Sir Pellier on the Email with the Leveling guide I’d sent him. It was Necessary that he slowly whittle down the undead.

By hook or crook, either by deals going on for corpses, shamblers reaching them, or ongoing smuggling happening, the Shroudzone was growing as more undead were added. By slowly popping them, the Paladin was countering that growth, ensuring the Shroud never reached the Walls, but wasn’t doing so in a way that would be noticed easily.

He might even want to work on his sniping and take out rote zombies down there, and be totally confident that nobody was going to notice that they were gone forever, given how many millions there were...

If he took Cleric and Sorcerer Levels, the numbers of spells per day that he could Cast would skyrocket, and that would include More Ammo. Five minutes a day could rapidly become quite a bit longer, and practicing his marksmanship on shamblers down below, instead of incorps, would make more sense.

Slow, steady progress, raising no alarms, all in pursuit of a greater goal, instead of mere practice. It was basically the definition of how to maximize Karma.

There were ships on patrol here, Coast Guard cutters with a decent amount of speed, but certainly nothing that could approach a motorcycle racing across three feet above the waves on a ribbon of gold light. The two we saw basically just watched us racing past, probably shaking their hands about Powered doing crazy shit... but it was daytime and we weren’t breaking the boundary, so they just radioed it in and ignored us.

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The far side of the shore wasn’t abandoned, and a bunch of curious eyes followed us as we came off the beach, onto the road... and melted into traffic and were gone.

“Any problems with pictures and stuff?” I inquired calmly.

SLEIPNER CAN TAP INTO SOME POWERS OF SPIRITS, AND HIS IMAGE CAN’T BE RECORDED. THEY CAN SNAP PHOTOS ALL DAY, AND GET NOTHING, he replied above his shoulder. I nodded, reassured he and I weren’t going to get plastered all over the internet... unless someone wanted to hand-draw up an image and try to sell it as “Look what I saw!”

Interestingly enough, riding this unicorn bike was extending my Lived-Line, unlike riding in a car. I guess it qualified as a mount, not a vehicle, and so the unbroken magical line of where I’d been was trailing behind me, without a gap. Even the Ward Ride had kept an unbroken Line because of the unicorn, and since his Veil travel had to follow roads, a material fix, my Detect Location had been able to track where I was, and my Lived-Line had marched on with it.

It wouldn’t mean much until I hit Nine, but it meant I wouldn’t have to walk or ride a bike or animal everywhere... which I would have been perfectly willing to do, to keep my Lived-Line intact. Being able to teleport around was one of the great joys of being a high-Level Caster, and I wasn’t going to compromise it. Using your Lived-Line doubled your range, so I definitely wanted to make use of that, since I might want to cover thousands of miles at a jump in the future.

Basically, I just sat back, enjoying what I could of the landscape, fixing it into my Visual File for future reference, and pondering what it all meant for the future.

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Heading to Baltimore basically meant heading across New Jersey and crossing several other highways, before eventually running into 95 and continuing southeast towards Philadelphia, then towards Baltimore beyond.

I was a bit surprised when he pulled over on the outskirts of Philadelphia, looking at the old city, which looked both busy and run-down. New office buildings were rising here and there in defiance of much of the older architecture. I assumed people pushed out of DC and New York would have settled here to some extent, as the next closest city with early American history.

I knew he had a City Pact active, and assumed it would switch as he crossed into the purview of a new City. Probably a polite way of traveling, indicating he had no ulterior motives to a local genius loci. “City talking to you?” I asked calmly.

He gave me that look again, the one where he wasn’t used to someone understanding the obligations he was under, and was oddly grateful for it. SHE WANTS ME TO DISPOSE OF A LITTLE PEST PROBLEM FOR HER.

“City wants a Senior Warlock to take care of a pest problem,” I repeated. “Meaning She hasn’t bothered to raise up any decent Citybound. Wonderful. Any particulars?” I asked, implicitly agreeing to go along with it. I didn’t mind Karma coming my way, and a Warlock was basically an endless source of side quests.

SOMETHING IS KILLING THE BUMS IN THE SLUMS. NOBODY SEEMS AWARE OF IT YET. He tapped Sleipner, who pulled smoothly back into motion, heading for an exit, following the roads so as to stay mostly invisible.

I frowned, considering multiple implications to that. Bums and vagrants tended to be very alert to predators and danger. If some of them went missing, they’d notice, and they’d certainly notice something new around that was a threat. Even if they wouldn’t go to the Harsites, they’d find an Amanan to talk to, and someone would come around to check on something.

There was too much supernatural shit around, and basically the homeless were most likely to be the ones preyed on first, as they were the most defenseless.

“Not just a stalking predator. It’s subtle and can cloud minds?” I conjectured.

LOGICAL. He was plainly thinking about it, too. SHAPECHANGER OR ILLUSION-USER, LIKELY.

“Not your first time hunting a gutter-killer,” I noted.

THERE ARE SO MANY, he rolled his shoulders in the equivalent of a sigh. SOME BEINGS SIMPLY HAVE NO PURPOSE BUT TO KILL.

He wasn’t one of them. Nothing I’d felt in his Sword indicated that he was a violent man. Where someone might be exulting at killing a foe, there was only something like detached regret and cool necessity, even sorrow that he had to be doing this... but someone had to do, and it was likely all he was good for, now.

Warlocks had little purpose but to fight, too...

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It was my first large city in this world not in a military-type footing... although there were plenty of armed people around. Like, everyone.

I noted that many collections of people were centered around those with the aura of the Powered, and could see the difference in them just in the fashion and cut of their clothes. Just being able to use Cantrips was a huge time and money saver, and gave you time to spend on other things. Even a One or Two Wizard or Sorcerer could simply get more stuff done faster and better than normal people, and in a wide variety of ways.

Eternal Lights were the common high-end lighting source. Did they have a Lantern Archon around ceaselessly churning them out for nothing? Or was a Sorcerer or Wizard with Eschew Comps making steady money off of them?

Still, plenty of places still didn’t have them, and obviously electricity was still in use.

There were new building styles going up, accentuated with moving illusions if you were rich enough, the equivalent of artistic signboards or displays of wealth here and there. Holos instead of flashing neon, as it were.

While whites and blacks were the average colors, as if buying into the Haze, the younger people went wild with bright colors, as did the Powered, standing out among others. Cantrips could easily change the hue of clothes and hair, so wild hairstyles to attract attention were common and popular... and completely to my expectations. Powered weren’t afraid of driving cars with rad paint jobs, for instance... if you keyed their car, they could fix it in a second, and then Curse you for fucking with their ride. Having all your hair fall out for being an ass was not a good trade-off to most people.

I didn’t have the background to truly appreciate the music or the styles, so I just watched and analyzed and compared to what I could remember.

Happily, there didn’t seem to be much break-out violence going on. There were enough things threatening people that just fighting to fight was stupid, and with the glass cannon model preferred by those fighting, it was too easy to die fast, and it was damn hard to hide from crimes you committed.

Those asses who had killed Elrii had brought her all the way into a Shroudzone just so they wouldn’t be caught by her family. Truly they knew they had to fear divination magic.

Ho, what would they do when they saw her face teaching the world the Human Language?...

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We didn’t have far to go. The District was called Port Richmond, and naturally enough abutted the Delaware River. That potentially indicated an aquatic threat, or an undead one, maybe both.

The area naturally had plenty of large buildings, some abandoned, most not, but with lots of places to take shelter from the elements and hide, corners to skulk and grab from.

I had the shrunken form of Clavus in hand, and tapped him as we were cruising slowly along one of the less-traveled side roads. “Stop, back up a hundred yards.”

He obligingly slowed down, Sleipner executed an extremely sharp turn without difficulty, and we went back down the road.

“Here.” The bike braked obligingly. “I assume you’re both scanning for active Evil. Go down the spectrum. Look for residue.”

His multi-hued eyes narrowed. A gentle neigh came from the horn.

“I can’t tell which direction it is going in.” His hand came up to point as the wheel of the bike turned in the same direction. “Right.” A unicorn was incredibly sensitive to Evil, and now that it knew what to look for, could follow it like an open book. “Your Eyes of Heaven at Tier Three or Four?”

THREE, he replied almost absently as he opened his jacket, his hands not on the handlebars, nor needed there.

“Get it to Four. Four is when you can keep it up all the time, and really learn how to use it to sense things, to the point of where it can sub for your eyes in a fight. Spherical awareness of life auras is extremely useful for tracking everything going on around you in a fight.”

NOTED. ON THE STACK. I smiled despite myself.