The Quantum Prophecy - Ryan Matthew Harker (best management books of all time TXT) 📗

arm, and hauled him to his feet.
“Thanks,” the older soldier grimaced. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t mention it,” Hardim grinned humorously.
“Let’s go already!” Stick called out. The tall wiry man was raining plasma into the enemy force that had begun to make its way around the corner. After recovering from the initial surprise of the human attack the goblins and werewolves were thirsty for their blood.
“Damnit!” Hardim yelled as they ran. “This city is nothing but a giant den of evil. We’ll never make it!”
“Shut up and save your breath for running!” Stick yelled back.
The men were getting worried though. There had been no sign of either Tol or Donin for a while now. This would not have been so bad if they did not have all of the ammo. The three spies had all noticed the low charges of their rifles and started to worry about when those charges would be depleted.
Without warning a manhole cover in the street in front of them went flying into the air. Hardim ran while half turned around and fired his almost empty clip into the pursuing masses. Hearing the clang of the heavy circle of iron as it hit the ground he turned back the way he was heading just as the werewolf cleared the dark hole in the cracked asphalt. Only five feet away the startled soldier did not stand a chance. As he swung his rifle around to take aim at this new opponent the lupine creature snarled, cleared the distance between them and tore out his throat, taking half of his neck with him. Hardim’s death was almost instantaneous as he collapsed in a gush of arterial red.
Two streams of plasma converged, burning through the monsters torso as McIntovov and Stick ran past their fallen comrade. Hot on their trail the terrible crush of creatures gave them no time to pause to feel the hurt of another friend lost.
Grenades suddenly winked into existence again and fell once more into the pursuing horde, raining hot shrapnel and liquid fire into their midst. This fortuitous turn of events gave the two men a slight reprieve as the werewolves and goblins dove for cover.
“Hurry up. This way!” intoned the frantic voice of Donin.
The two mercenaries increased their pace and veered off to the left into the alley the voice had called from.
As soon as they were within the alleys gloom Stick and McIntovov were pushed roughly into the now familiar piles of debris. As they lay side by side both men felt an almost smothering pressure of invisible weight as it settled none too gently on top of them.
There was a quick rustle of fabric and then close on their ears they heard Donin whisper, “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. Tol and I have thrown our capes over us. Hopefully it’ll be enough.” Both men instantly understood. They were under concealment, not full cloak but surely enough.
They did not have to wait long to find out if their desperate ploy would work. No sooner had Donin fallen silent then a group of their attackers entered the alley. The goblins entered behind a pack of werewolves, projectile and plasma weapons ready. The lupine part of the force dropped to all fours, snuffling and sniffing as they tried to follow the potent scent of fear their prey had exuded.
The creatures smelt of death, a rancid mix of rotting meat and excrement. As the beasts stopped near them the stench almost caused the concealed men to retch and reveal their position. Barely managing not to gag they were relieved when the animals continued down the alley and took the questing goblins with them.
Confused at the sudden disappearance of the trail it had been following one of the werewolves came back to where the four men lay, lifted one leg, and marked the spot with a quick jet of urine. After it was done it let out a long howl of frustration and loped off to follow its fellows.
Thoroughly disgusted the soldiers managed to stay quiet as they waited for a safe amount of time to pass, giving their pursuers a chance to leave the vicinity. One of the cloaked men rose and made a quick survey of the area. Upon his return a quick succession of taps on McIntovov’s shoulder were enough to inform him that it had been Tol. The coast was clear.

*****

The Midnight Monastery was a medium-large solid stone structure that measured around two hundred and seventy five to three hundred and fifty feet square. Its walls were made of large quarried stones that had been hand hewn into two foot by four foot tall by two-foot deep bricks that were carefully staggered on top of each other utilizing only their weight to keep them together. A massive gate made entirely of ironwood thirteen feet tall, five and a half feet wide was opened to the rising sun. This was the outside, inside the monastery was just as plain. Once through the gate there was a small courtyard with a dirt and gravel floor that opened to the sky. It was about fifteen feet by twenty feet square. Directly opposite the outer gate was another door also made of ironwood, but made to fit human proportions. This small, enclosed area was where Jeshux and party suddenly found themselves scant minutes ahead of the dawn.
“Whoa,” Max said as he tried to steady himself. “Not nearly as bad the second time around.” Jeshux however, completely acclimated to the effects of teleportation, wasted no time and ran over to pound on the inner doorway.
“Hello!” he yelled as he banged his fists against the solid wood. “Sanctuary! We seek sanctuary! Hurry, please. Sanctuary!”
There was the audible click of a lock being loosed, and a thunk as the bolt was drawn, then the door swung silently outward on well oiled hinges. Jeshux stepped quickly backward and out of the way.
An old, somewhat short and stooped man stood in the doorway. He had a balding head supporting the barest hint of hair around its fringes. He also had a long thick mustache that fell on either side of his mouth, past the bottom of his chin. He was dressed in typical monk fashion, a coarse, brown robe of plain burlap, soft with the frequency of use and held around the middle with a wide leather belt that had begun to crack with age.
“We seek sanctuary,” Jeshux repeated.
He glanced at the strangers and only showed a twinge of interest at the sight of a werewolf and a bear in his courtyard, the monk smiled broadly and gestured inside. “Be welcome. You’re a little bit late.”
At that very moment, seemingly by magic although it was not, the two animals began to melt and twist into themselves in a grotesque manner that could have been described as revolting if not for the fact that it was utterly fascinating. Skin flowed like hot wax, bones cracked and reformed, joints popped in a sickening symphony of sound, and hair shortened until in most places it disappeared entirely. All in all the sight of such an unnatural transformation was disconcerting and more than a little disturbing. It boggled the mind as the senses were assaulted with the impossibility of all that mass shrinking, not disappearing but transmogrifying into a smaller form. Max was especially stupefied. Not only had the little scientist almost no experience with magic but also as a physicist this transformation defied all the laws of nature he had learned to except as almost sacred and pushed the meaning of the improbable as he knew it all out of proportion.
As unexpectedly quick as the transformation began it was over. The first rays of the newly dawned sun came streaking over the top of the wall into the shadowed courtyard, illuminating just the barest first centimeters of the inside top of the west wall. Where the werewolf and bear had been now knelt the naked forms of a man and a woman.
Candlelite rose shakily to his feet and then moved to help Absinthe take hers. The monk was grinning broadly, obviously delighted by their sudden transformation, and gestured impatiently for everyone to hurry inside.
Seeing the two naked people, faces red with embarrassment and unsure smiles fixed as they shuffled into the dimly lit enclosure of the monastery, Farewethor quickly waved her hands through the air and produced a simple set of clothes.
“Thank you.” The pair gratefully took the proffered garments and stepped off to one side of the room to dress.
The old monk nodded in satisfaction at these proceedings and then led the group through narrow, poorly lit hallways until they reached a stairwell that led down into further gloom.
Indicating the stairs the monk said to Jeshux, “Your men may go below. There they shall find accommodations suitable to their needs. As for the rest of you, please follow me.”
Turning to his men Jeshux barked, “Alright! You heard the man. Proceed below and I’ll be down to debrief you ASAP, dismissed!” And then he turned with the others to follow the old monk who was beginning to move down another hallway.
As there was only one floor of the monastery at ground level and it was not too terribly large, they did not follow the monk far. After only a short distance he paused at a door and held it open with one hand while he ushered everyone through with his other.
This new room was not large but nor was it small, some would have called it cozy. A fireplace set into one wall sat unused in these warmer days but was clean and fueled, ready to be lit when needed. A small table was pushed into one of the corners with two chairs, one at each of its exposed sides, and a large candle unused sat at its center. There was also an oak bookshelf against a wall that easily held a thousand volumes on various topics. A sparse bed lay against the only free wall. Little more than a mattress it was none-the-less impeccably made up. The last of the room’s prominent features was a large old fashioned chandelier made of candles and a large hand woven throw rug that had been laid in front of the fireplace.
All of the candles in the chandelier were lit and it was to the rug that the monk directed his guests, sitting down on it cross-legged as an example. One by one the refugees also sat on the rug until they were all in a circle and faced one another.
“Ah. Good, good.” The monk nodded his head. “Welcome to my room, all of you. We of the Midnight Monastery have been waiting for you. My name is Jinnihannahowuu but you may call me Jin.” And then he began to nod his head again.
While the old man spoke Candlelite had thought, we of the monastery, and considered it kind of odd as he had not seen anyone other than Jin as they made their way to the room.
“And where is everybody else?” Absinthe beat him to the punch.
“Oh they’re around,” Jin grinned and waved a hand about absently. “May I ask if you’ve been named yet she-bear?”
Absinthe managed only to look a little startled at the old man’s question but composed herself quickly and answered, “My name is Absinthe.”
Jin looked into her eyes and said, “Yes, yes. Perfect.” He turned to Candlelite. “Absolutely perfect.”
Candlelite looked across at Jeshux and asked, “Does the whole world know who we are?”
Jeshux shrugged his shoulders and nodded towards Jin. “He can tell you more than I can.”
“Yes. I’m sure I can,” the old man giggled. “And you are sir?”
“Commander General Jeshux DuTerriux Jules, founder and leader of the IMEC,” Jeshux informed him formally.
“Ah