They are? Mmm... I can see both sides to it, so it'll be interesting what to do.



This part, here, I'm not certain where I'm going to put it, or if there woudl be more stuff in between what was last posted and this. I also don't know whether or not to have Syla blow up more stuff or cut to the poleaxed meeting that occurs later. But, I figured it'd also be a nice demonstration of what magic can do with some talk by Savastan.





The viewing stand was fairly crowded. Thomas saw a number of higher ranked officers, and off in his own section, Colonel Aristov and several Russian diplomats sat. That had led to some annoyance, but the Imperial delegation had been firm.





“So you see,” Thomas had said. “We would like an example of what your magic can do. Savastan has been, ah, rather reluctant to demonstrate offensive magic.”



“Traders always are,” the short woman said. “It might cost and they are loyal only to their purses.” She frowned, looking around the small room, the korva soldiers standing behind her. “Very well. This is effective— you will have the Ru-russians here, yes?”



“Well, we would prefer you to show us first—”



“No.” Her gaze was frosty. “I am unconcerned with your political issues. Communism, capitalism. Foolish terms for unimportant differences.” Ignoring Thomas’ wince, she continued.”We will show you both,and then you will realize the danger your enemies pose and how useful we can be, yes?”



“Very well…” Thomas said with a sigh. He was getting used to being the bearer of bad tidings to his bosses, after all.







“Greetings,” Savastan said, the microphone looking incongruous in his hand. Marla was nowhere to be seen, possibly off with David. Those two had hit it off every well, and to be honest, Thomas was hoping they could drop the secrecy aspect before too long. What was shown here would no doubt have a bearing on that.



“We are here for a demonstration of battlemagic by our honored guest, Force-Leader Syla, I will explain some aspects of magic for those of you who have not had a chance to examine your briefing packet.”



Thomas had examined his packet, and it had kept him up at night. They had documentation regarding basic training for magic— Savastan had put together a packet about the “make you die” aspect of magic.



And Force-Leader Syla doesn’t like him. I wonder if that’s just her or all of her people?



“The first point is that magic is not—entirely like your science. We break the rules. But the inertia of the universe and the inertia of the conscious mind, makes it difficult to directly manipulate a living being. Turning a man into a frog is not a permanent transformation, nor is it immediately lethal, despite the fact that by the laws of physics, at the very least, such a transformation would destroy his mind. For the period of the transformation, those laws are held in abeyence—which is why only the most powerful of mages could do that, especially if it was an unwilling transformation.” Savastan gave a coughing chuckle. “It’s something of a backhanded complement— you’ve evidently annoyed someone who can utterly obliterate you, but who has decided to merely embarrass you.” One taloned hand gestured at the field of targets, including the M48 tank, the ranks of dummies set up as a company, the houses, both wooden and blockhouse design, and a road mocked up to look like an airfield with a dozen aircraft hulks lined up, both in the open and behind sand bags.



“But in most cases, mages worked through the medium of the normal universe, using their power to transform objects or create forces which they then use against their opponents. It is more efficient than a direct transformation, but equally, more vulnerable to being blocked. Force-Leader Syla will be using a series of foci and suspended rituals, as would most combat mages— a fire fight is no time to become creative, after all.” Savastan nodded to the mage. “I believe that you may now begin.”



“Very well.” Syla said.



Thomas looked up. The camera crews were running, both normal and high speed, while behind them, scientists and engineers were monitoring the targets. They might not look it, but everything on that field was more wired up than a Christmas tree.



Syla opened the big book she carried, looked at it for a moment, then looked straight at the M48. She nodded, and suddenly made a short, sharp gesture, speaking several words.



“What’s she—” the major sitting next to Thomas didn’t get to finish his sentence. There was a blazing flash of light, followed by a clap of thunder strong enough to flip some hats off of the gathered group.



Thomas blinked the stars out of his eyes and then looked at Syla, now haloed in a glow that was obvious even in the light.



Then he looked at the M48.



“Jesus,” Thomas said. It wasn’t a curse, but a prayer. He could see through the tank, that had what looked like a three foot diameter hole blown through it. The cannon was drooping, glowing red hot in the Nevada sun. They could see part of one of the dummies they had put in the tank’s crew positions, it’s fabric merrily burning. It was plain that anyone in the tank would have been dead before they could move, much less escape from the inferno.



“Useful, yes?” Syla’s sharp tone carried over the absolutely silent audience. “Now I will show you other attacks.”



You’ve showed us enough, Thomas thought. He had been worried, but too many of his counterparts had started thinking about old men waving sticks and drinking potions, weird, but no match for disciplined troops— and a single short woman had just blown a hole through a tank. Enough to learn why you consider mass armies to be an exercise in stupidity.