The Ravens of Carrid Tower

by David c Black

  And the most armed.

  "See those holes along the side?"

  "I do, more weapons?"

  "No, when the fleet need to berth, poles come out of the slots and connect to each ship. They stack two next to one another in a line down the sides"

  "How many can fit?"

  "Thirty warships on the starboard and twenty-eight on the port. Extra room is needed on this side for the marines to launch their fast boats. That crane will lower them there"

  "Impressive Jip. How long until it’s ready?”

  “It already is. We aren’t expecting to find any problems, the design was perfected with the seventh fortress. This is just bigger”

  “Can we go aboard?”

  “Of course”

  The two walked towards the vessel, Annick listening intently to the new features added to the flagship. The politician noticed that every statement the Admiral uttered seemed in some way, to justify the exorbitant cost of its construction and maintenance.

  “The whole point Senator, is for the fortresses to be capable of amphibious invasion anywhere in Lathania. With a full contingent of warships and transports we can land anywhere and no one can stop us. Conduct the whole war from the safety of the fortress leagues off the coast.”

  “And is invasion something the navy is planning for. Who are we to invade?”

  The admiral looked confused for a moment before answering, “I don’t know, that’s for the Assembly to decide. I was hoping to have a pop at the pirates in Echovia, but well… Too late for that now.”

  “Indeed.” Annick said cynically.

  While the Ravens abandoned their seige lines and fast marched to winter quarters in Ja Deist, Azon had made himself comfortable on a cliff face and passed the time with light meditation. The first camel riders appeared early the next morning in the distance.

  So Mak and Kellick were right.

  They scouted forward towards the mountain range before returning beyond the horizon. A couple of bells later another party of perhaps a score of riders came closer. Reaching the base of the mountains, they dismounted near the same opening that the Ravens had found and cautiously entered the steep edged path up to the heights. Seeming to be reassured that the path was indeed empty, the party remounted their camels and rode back off into the distance. Azon, tired of waiting jumped after them.

  The horde had pitched their tent city some eight leagues or so away from the base of the mountains. From the sky, Azon was surprised at the order of the nomadic settlement. A perfect circle with a single round tent in the centre and a straight path from edge made up the heart of the horde. Rings of tents surrounded the core that gradually became more chaotic the further away from the center they were pitched.

  Fifteen, maybe twenty thousand soldiers. And as many camp followers…

  Azon was suddenly struck with a thought.

  Or was it an urge?

  To jump down into that perfect centre…

  Find the Shaa. End this.

  Instead he jumped away. The Monk jumped from one small desert town to the next, finding nothing but picked bones and abandoned buildings.

  Where the hell is everybody?

  Azon looked up at the sun which was falling low in the sky, realising he had lost track of time. He jumped.

  To anyone watching, and there were none, the monk would have simply vanished. No warning, no sound. Around five seconds later judging the distance, he would appear in a room above a run down Carridean Inn. Azon rented it permanently for the jump back to the Capital, allowing him to return discretely, change out of combat gear and fade into the city. There were similar provisions provided by the church, but he preferred his private arrangements. The monk split his time between three masters; the High Priest, the Defence committee and his god. Not all their requests aligned neatly.

  He needed to know exactly where he was going to jump, to visualise the room or place in detail, the precise altitude and position of landing. Azon had a clock, long broken, set on the mantle. He focused on those halted hands in his imagination picturing them directly in front of his face. After a few alterations, there he would appear. Jumping randomly back to the city could see him thinking of a statue for but a moment and appearing at least partly within it. That could be fatal.

  Painful at the least. Anyway, we don't actually jump. Instead it's more like falling into hidden cracks within this particular plain we call our universe. A sphere of visible reality that all but a few mortals exist upon. The surface layer. Distance is only fixed in our minds as a linear relationship between two points. But the layers aren’t flat. They form an orb, much like this planet. Falling through it then at the right angle could take you anywhere within the sphere. As we fall the layered angles that make up our world peel back rapidly, like a book being flicked with a thumb. Too fast to see any individual page of possibility flashing past though. We look for the right pattern of colours, in reverse this time, to indicate we've fallen enough and appearing at the right end of the plain. Monks differ in their approach after this. I aim to reach a point above the continent most of the time, then fall towards the intended region, fall again to the city. Landing safely was the hardest part to learn. Stopping at the right fold and flipping the plain at the last second to discount the remaining fall speed. It's rare that I land perfectly on my feet though and not a few inches above ground. Then again, better that way than a few inches too low.

  Azon had in the past made a few random jumps. When surrounded and disorientated in battle, explosions erupting all around him, he had jumped up...

  Which is to say turning the plain around and falling upwards. But you never did care much about the physics of it, did you? Just narrating this damned history book of yours.

  I lost interest discussing that which I mastered millennia ago Azon, said an impatient voice in the monk’s head.

  Still won't share any of it though, will you?

  You have all that you need for now, perhaps more. It is a grave mistake to give humans too much, too quickly. You're late anyway?

  On my way, carry on with your damned story.

  ...Disappearing and reappearing, before jumping again to the horizon in search of safe ground to land.

  The monks had mastered the jump nearly a century ago, before the great war. They had tested its application during those battles to devastating effect. The Naru empire and its client states had vast numbers of soldiers and beast of war, but defenceless against this new kind of weapon system.

  Well almost, we lost a few at the end. Trapped us with oil, fire and crude magic. The Naru generals had eventually found ways to counter our assaults, to limited effect. Sacrificed a great deal of their own men to kill us though. Once we entered their lines they would watch our path and set off explosions. Udoc and Synd were caught in the blasts. We can bend ourselves within the plains of time and space, but fire is fire. Monks burn and bleed like any other. In any case that tactic is redundant now. We trail a predictable path no longer.

  Magic, as it had become to be known was discovered in Carrid over a century ago. It started with the fad of adding certain ores from mines in Adavia to candles and lanterns, which changed the colour and behaviour of the emitted light. The fashion did not persist, as it quickly became apparent that repeated exposure to the smoke in enclosed space such as houses had strange, unwanted and often fatal effects. While the Carridean public returned to their mundane lumination, the Council, hobbyist and temple acolytes set out to document the properties of the ores. One type of blue dust, once ignited would burn bright, but not hot. Warm to the touch, the fire could be picked up seeming to bond with the fingers, but never burning the holder’s hand or sleeves. Other substances had the opposite properties, melting a steel blade in seconds with an invisible flame or exploding in brilliant white light.

  After the deaths caused from the misguided use of the ores by the public and the mounting evidence that the ore was responsible for hideous defects and mutations in newborns, the Assembly had its e
xcuse to regulate not only the substances themselves, but study of them. Hobbyists were pushed out of the game and research into the arcane was left to two institutions. The Church and the Assembly's Committee for Public Advancement. The Church developed a new class of priest, charged first with archiving and documenting each type of ore. They would later experiment with the effects of compounding them together. Eventually one or two brave priests would experiment with eating the particles, causing all manner of hideous tissue malformations. One combination though seemed malign and the reckless priest called Laron, with a passion for science decided never to test his luck in such a way again. Days later though he would dream of a god and wake high on a mountain ledge in front of the deity. The priest, admittedly by accident, had made the first jump. He would become Carrid's first monk, returning to the church with news of the god. And a mission. A great war was coming. Carrid needed to develop and formalise the training of Combat Monks. Guardians of the republic and protectors of its arcane secrets.

  Where the church sought to train monks and incorporate an understanding of the new science within its own ancient teaching, the Committee for Public Advancement was commissioned with discovering practical applications for the State. Safe compound formulas were eventually found which permanently Withd the whale oil fuelled street lights in the city. Ore light cast beautiful and very inexpensive blue glows each night throughout the tower’s core. The Committee's members comprised an uneasy mix of professional scientists, eccentric genius' and a handful of enthusiasts from Carrid's time abundant rich. They optimised and standardised alchemic formulations, regulated products for public use and bickered about which of their pet projects secured more funding.

  Daminiti was perhaps the Committee’s most esteemed, albeit infamous member. An artist who while the city entertained itself with the now banned candles, had been mixing the ore into paints and emulsions, creating works of vibrancy and beauty never before seen. Once bored of painting, he experimented with pistons and small iron machines that could turn a wheel, crush grain or fire small objects from narrow tubes. He became fascinated with projectiles that could soar in the air, calling them Ore jets, or Rockets as the missiles were made of small round hollowed rocks at first before being Withd with clay. He devised wooden craft able to submerge into the sea and even, though never actually built, mechanisms to lift carriages into the air with elongated spinning fins attached to the roof powered by the reaction between different alchemic ores. He was the first to mix some of the more volatile powders together with sulphur and blue salts, which when lit exploded violently. Daminiti the brilliant, as his friends half-jokingly referred to him, caused tension and division within the committee. His enemies called him Daminiti the unfinished, due to the number of projects he never completed. He was a man of private means, refusing to work with other members and ignored any complaints of the direction his projects seemed to be taking. Towards battlefield applications. The committee argued between those who wanted to develop innovations for public utility and those, like the famed artist who believed time and energy was best spent serving Carrid by harnessing magic for war. Daminiti would die before seeing his vision materialise, but his followers had persisted. With the support of the armed forces, they left the Committee to focus on the banal and formed a new organisation. A school to train hand selected soldiers in the emerging arts, moulding a new type of warrior. The Combat Mage.

  There would be much rivalry between the monks and mages. Discipline and imagination. Internal and external. The monks harnessed the ore within their own blood. It was part of them and allowed physical flesh to slide between the invisible folds in space. The mage on the other hand equipped himself and manipulated varying alchemic elements, throwing glass vessels into the enemy ranks that erupted in massive explosions. Monks harnessed the energy coursing through their veins with meditation, whereas the mages had the cavalier reputation of avoiding all dogma and competing with one another for the biggest bang. They would later work together, being assigned to companies such as the Ravens. Monks could scout a hundred leagues in a few seconds. Mages could heal most wounds, at least keep the soldier from bleeding to death. In combat, each alone could rout a legion.

  Azon appeared in the room and quickly changed out of his desert gear into something less noticeable. He would normally walk through the kitchen, greet the cook and then exit out to a small perpetually greasy door leading to a narrow alley beyond. Today though he would go down to the bar and find an old man sitting in the corner. A tankard of ale, some kind of roast chicken and a stack of parchment would litter the table. Quill in hand.

  My God. If only they knew...

  “Hurry up Azon and sit down.”

  "You seem more rattled than usual" Azon said taking a seat.

  "And you seem more disrespectful."

  "You have chicken on your shirt."

  "Sit down monk, there have been... developments"

  "In your history book?"

  "History is the merely the current affairs of yesterday. I record the present, for the benefit of the future."

  "Where does it end?"

  "That is my fear now monk. I believe somewhere not well"

  "You know the outcome already? Even for you, surely not?"

  "There is always the room for chance in the unfolding of fate. In fact, I think we will have to depend on it now."

  "What fate?"

  "Invasion."

  "The Naru aren't likely..."

  "The Naru most certainly are. That is but the beginning of my concern. Another player. My colleague I suppose we could say"

  "What? You have colleagues?"

  "This is a big planet Azon, I can't handle it all."

  "Maybe if you didn't spend so much time in taverns drinking ale and writing these pointless tomes."

  "Azon I’m not writing my book here. It writes itself now as we speak. I have more pressing matters at hand. Making sure the story I've started to record… Your species story I might add, doesn't unfold as it looks like it's going to. These are plans Azon."

  The god said as he gathered together and lifting the parchment.

  "A foolish man's desperate plans. And you are going to help me."

  "Go on."

  "Jaro has crossed a line and it changes the course of the future."

  "You said it was robust. So robust you could leave us to it."

  "It is. It was, damn you. But he has given them some of the Committee's ores."

  "What? Who to?

  "The Shaa."

  "No. He can’t?"

  "He has already."

  "This is treason."

  "Yes."

  "I'll kill him myself."

  "You will not Azon." The old man snapped showing Azon the shallow depth of his patience today. "You will do exactly what I tell you to do."

  "Which is?"

  "You warn Mak. He already knows about the 7th. That Kellick is a smart one."

  "What about the 7th?"

  "They will most likely tell you when you share the news with them. I thought they might have already when you told them about the Shaa arriving at the mountain. In any event, after that find Aldo, which will be easier said than done. He is already suspecting some conspiracy in the desert, he needs to know that he’s got allies down there that can be trusted. At the moment there’s no evidence, and you can hardly say I told you. So, you must not act yet. Understood?"

  "Agreed, but when they hear about the ore?"

  "Tell them they must wait. And watch. Prepare for what is to come. If they take an accusation to the Assembly now without evidence, there is a good chance Jaro will find out. Probably throw you all in jail. Soon monk, you will have all you need."

  "Galtus?"

  "No, the Shaa. At some point, I predict Jaro's agent will have cause to meet with the Shaa, formalise their arrangements."

  "I don't understand"

  "The Shaa are behind on their payments to Jaro."

  "Payments?"

  "Oh, this is
painful, you are so far behind Azon. Never mind.

  Trying to keep up with the wandering thoughts of a drunk god...

  "Someone, probably Cillius is going to arrive in Ja Deist. He will use the Assemblies authority to force Mak to grant him passage to audience with the Shaa. He will want to take a few Ravens with him as guides. You must accompany them Azon."

  "Okay I will. Then what?"

  "The Shaa will betray Jaro at some point, something our Consul seems to have paid no heed to.”

  “Jaro’s not new at this”

  “My point exactly. He’s cocky and has seriously underestimated the Shaa. His focus is on getting every advantage he can from the rise of the horde before he crushes it. After the election probably.

  “But you think the Shaa will act sooner.”

  “He will. There’s nothing left in the desert for them now. The Tribes are gone, almost everyone else in the region has been taken into the flock or killed. They have no food Azon.”

  “And then…”

  “Once he’s got whatever message Jaro wants delivering, he’ll try to kill you all. Jump back with the Ravens. It's up to you if you want to carry the agent too. If it is Cillius I wouldn't blame you for leaving him.”

  "A suggestion?"

  The god smiled. “When the Shaa makes his move, tell Mak first and then Aldo that it’s begun. Aldo should be tailing Cillius by then anyway, so he will be ready in any case. The main point is that in attacking a Carridean representative, they declare war."