“By my best calculation, billions of years. At a thousand years per second, we’ll get back to the beginning in our lifetime. But just barely. We need better.”
Pug nodded, clearly fatigued, but he closed his eyes. Tomas looked skyward. The stars could now be seen to move, though, given their vast distances, it was still a slow movement. But even seeing this much motion was disquieting. Then their movement seemed to accelerate, and soon it was noticeably faster. Then Pug was again with them.
“I’ve created a second spell within the structure of the trap. Each minute the rate will double without my intervention. We’re now moving at a rate in excess of two thousand years per second. In a minute it will be four. Then eight, sixteen, and so forth.”
Macros’s expression was one of approval. “Good. That gives us a few hours.”
Tomas said, “I think it’s time for some questions, then.”
Macros smiled, his dark eyes piercing, as he said, “What you mean is you think it’s time for some answers.”
Tomas said, “Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Years ago you coerced me into betraying the Tsurani peace treaty and on that night you told me you were the author of my current existence. You said you gave me all. Everywhere I look, I see signs of your handiwork. I would know more, Macros.”
Macros sat again. “Well then, as we have some time to spend, why not? We are reaching a point in this unfolding drama where knowledge will no longer hurt you. What would you know?” He looked from Tomas to Pug.
Pug glanced at his friend, then looked hard at the sorcerer. “Who are you?”
“I?” Macros seemed amused by the question. “I’m . . . who am I?” The question seemed almost rhetorical. “I’ve had so many names I can’t recall every one.” He sighed in remembrance. “But the one given at my birth translates into the King’s Tongue simply as Hawk.” With a smile he said, “My mother’s people were a little primitive.” He pondered. “I’m not sure where to begin. Perhaps with the place and time where I was born.
“On a distant world, a vast empire once ruled, at its height a match for Great Kesh and even Tsuranuanni. This empire was undistinguished in most ways - no artists, philosophers, or leaders of genius, save one or two who popped up at odd moments over the centuries. But it endured. And the one noteworthy thing it did was inflict peace upon its dominion.
“My father was a merchant, undistinguished in all ways, save he was thrifty, and held loan papers on many of the most powerful men in his community. This I tell you so you’ll understand: my father was not someone about whom great sagas are composed. He was a most unremarkable, common man.
“Then, in the land of my father’s birth, another common man appeared, but one with the ability of spellbinding oratory and an irritating habit of making people think. He raised questions that made those in power nervous, for while he was a peaceful man, he gathered followers, and some of them tended toward the radical and violent. So those who ruled levelled a false charge against him. He was brought to closed trial, where no man could raise a voice on his behalf. In the most extreme and harsh verdict, it was accounted he spoke treason - which was patently false - and he was ordered executed.
“His execution was to be public, in the fashion of that time, so many of the populace were there, including my father. That poor merchant of few gifts was there with some of his highly placed countrymen, and to please his rulers - who owed him money - he participated in mocking and ridiculing the condemned man upon his way to his death.
“For whatever reason, fate’s whim or the gods’ dry sense of humour, the condemned man paused in his walk to the place of execution and faced my father. Of all those about who were tormenting and berating him, he cast his eyes upon this one simple merchant. It may have been this man was a magician, or it could simply have been a dying man’s curse. But out of all there upon the boulevard, he cursed my father. It was a strange curse, which my father dismissed as the ravings of a man gone mad with terror.
“But after the man had died and the years passed, my father noticed he wasn’t getting any older. His neighbours and business associates were showing the ravages of the years, but my father looked much as he always did, a merchant of about forty years.
“When the differences became pronounced, my father fled his homeland, lest he be branded a companion of dark powers. He travelled for years. At first he put his time to good purpose, becoming a fair scholar. Then he learned the curse for what it really was. A serious accident occurred, leaving him bedridden for most of a year. He discovered death was denied him. Should he be wounded unto death, he would heal eventually.