John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had used the enemy solder, Leet, in the making of a miraculous machine of iron which, it was rumored, the Mage would use to destroy the dark, Mage-King.
These were noteworthy tasks -- working on the magically driven boat and on the wonder of destruction.
But ... back to Golden's work with pigs.
First, Golden was sent to order the palace blacksmith to make a quantity of long, thin, iron strips that the Mage called "wire." Why? So the Mage could have them woven into a metal, pig-sized cage. In fact, the Mage instructed the palace blacksmith -- the thick-muscled man fully as puzzled as Golden -- to make twenty of those cages, a squealing hog to be shut into each!
After the pigs had been latched into the cages, the cages lined with what John-Lyon called "insulation," Golden had been sent as leader of several pony carts to transfer the caged pigs to the streets of Xanthin.
Spacing out the swine cages along the refuse ditches at the center of the major streets leading to the harbor had proved to be a dangerous and lonely task. Dangerous, because of the possibility of dark-Mage sky bolts. Lonely, because the people of Xanthin hid in their shops and houses, rarely venturing into byways the evil Mage might strike with lightning. In the whole of his pig task, Golden had seen but three people in the street, people whose ragged tunics marked them to be of the lowest class, one man so drunk he was impervious to the danger of the falling bolts.
Golden himself -- to say nothing of the pony drivers who continually looked skyward in fear of sudden death -- was glad when his pig task was complete. Glad to have escaped the lightning-cursed streets of Xanthin!
After that, Golden (still under orders from the Mage) had dispatched a well-paid town crier in yet another cart, a graybeard who drove wildly through the streets, pausing now and again to shout at the people huddled behind the safety of their Mage-protected buildings, promising a king's reward to any townsman bringing news of bolt-strikes on the pigs.
Days had passed, the Mage working with Leet, both shut up in the Mage's magic Room, the Mage rarely leaving that room of secrets except to hold council meetings and to go outside at midday to inspect the sky.
Weeks followed in which -- far from Golden's dangerous task being over -- it was Golden's duty to risk his life daily to bring food to the porkers. For the Mage loved these stinking swine like he was their father, wanting nothing but to see them healthy and as happy as hogs could be!
All this until a lightning bolt had hit one of the caged pigs, a fact reported to Golden at the palace by a townsman made brave enough -- by the promise of reward -- to venture through the streets to Yarro's palace.
Golden, having the Mage's permission to enter the magic Room at any time with news of a bolt-strike on a pig, had, in turn, revealed the event to John-Lyon-Pfnaravin.
Hearing the tidings that a pig cage had been struck, the Mage was excited. Stopping his mysterious work in that room of smells, ordering Leet to guard what looked like a pile of fine, gray sand on the out-sized workbench, the Mage called for his Mage-cart, a door guard dispatched to convey the Mage's command to the stables.
Exiting the palace, pacing nervously before the inner wall, the Mage (and Golden) immediately climbed on the soon arriving, two-pony cart, the Mage waving the small wagon forward, passed the gate guards of each of the three walls' fortified doors.
Outside, he urged the pony driver to the greatest speed down the palace hill, the wagon careening by the city's shops, Golden bouncing in the cart's back, the cart wheels screeching dangerously, the wagon rumbling, the ponies snorting, the Mage's sweating bodyguards soon left behind. (Golden wished his own guards were that easily outdistanced, all the Mage's staff -- himself included -- tightly guarded day and night since the attempted assassination of the Mage.)
Creaking to a swaying halt at the spot that the townsman had indicated to Golden, the Mage (and a bruised Golden) descended from the cart, the Mage inspecting the dark spot in the ditch where the lightening bolt had roasted the garbage and the sewage all around the strike.
And there, in the center where the bolt had struck, was the caged pig, the animal squealing in a frightened manner, but as alive as ever.
At this, the Mage was much pleased.
After that, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin ordered all the caged pigs to be brought back to the palace where he had the pig's iron-wire cages cut off. (Pig-like, the greedy animals had gorged themselves until they were too fat to exit the cage doors wherein they'd entered). The Mage then commanded the pigs to be put back in their sty.
At last, Golden had understood. It was not that John-Lyon-Pfnaravin loved pigs. It was that he was watching for the effects on them of the bolts of lightning.
Confirming this new understanding, the Mage had then had a suit of woven "wire" made for himself -- a mesh suit that covered yet another suit is leather, both suits covering the Mage's whole body, even his head! -- complete with boots that fastened to the suit, the boots having nails?? that went through the soles into the ground. Surely, the Mage had ordered this iron suit because a similar "cage" had protected the pig from the evil Mage's bolt, the suit of iron making the Mage safe from his rival's lightning-magic. Of a greater mystery was the Mage's order for "blankets" of leather covered iron wire to be made -- for what purpose, Golden had no idea. (Golden should never doubt the Mage, however, difficult as he was to understand. The Mage had his reasons for what he did).
All seeming to be in readiness, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin would soon travel to Azare to confront that band's evil Mage-King.
Fervently, Golden hoped to be left behind. After all, there was nothing he could do to help in this fight against evil. Also, with John-Lyon-Pfnaravin gone from Xanthin Island, Golden believed that palace security would be relaxed, making it easier for Golden to slip past his guards so he could hunt for the green crystal of Pfnaravin. Surely, if Golden found John-Lyon-Pfnaravin's crystal, perhaps presenting it to the Mage upon the Mage's return, the Mage would recognize Golden as the true King of Malachite!
* * * * *
It was time to make the final arrangements. Something John had thought about for a long time.
Dressed, as usual, in a stylish robe of Cinnabar silk, gold piping along its edges -- the undersized Platinia swallowed up by the chair behind him -- John sat at the far end of the long, wood table in the war room, the people he'd come to think of as his council seated down both sides of the table, Coluth at the other end. Besides Coluth, the council included the Navy Second, the Army Head and his Second, Gagar, Leet, Robin, and Golden.
Everyone there at last -- the military men dressed in formal, pale yellow uniforms with shiny sashes slashed from left shoulder to right waist, the civilians in more conventional tunics -- it was time to begin.
Down the table, Coluth rubbed his broad nose which he sometimes did when preoccupied. Leet, when he thought no one was watching, had lifted his paralyzed hand, making it look as inconspicuous as possible by laying it in his lap. Nator's stocky body filled his carved, wood chair, his metallic eyes focused on the table before him.
Outside, the door was secured by the combined guards of all the parties -- perhaps forty -- led by John's personal guard, Whar.
Though not everything had come together as quickly as John had hoped, events had gone well enough. First, the capture of Xanthin, which turned out to be easier than John had thought. The pitifully small army unit that the Malachites had left to hold down Xanthin Island had been completely demoralized by what appeared to them to be a much larger force of Stil-de-grain military. (The dummies fastened to every other oar on the boats -- the oars wired together so the dummy's oars also moved -- plus the army augmented by the addition of half the ships' sailors -- had caused the quick surrender of the Malachites.)
With the young king installed again in his capital -- and kept out of the way by Coluth who doted on the child -- one of John's first directives was to have the harbor "mined."
Made safe from direct attack by sealing up the harbor, John had time to
think himself out of the trap he'd deliberately sprung on himself. For as expected, the Malachite Navy had arrived shortly after John's forces had retaken Xanthin, the Malachites with more than enough ships to block any attempt by the decimated Stil-de-grain Navy to leave the island.
With food in increasingly short supply, what John had been planning for the past few weeks had better work!
"As some of you know," John began, fighting down the urge to start an impatient and certainly undignified drumming of his fingers on the table, "I've been making preparations to journey to the dark band." There was fidgeting around the table, as there always was when someone mentioned that place of evil. "I'm prepared offensively and defensively. Depending on what's thrown against me, I'll have to improvise strategy on the spot, of course. My ace in the hole is a weapon like this world has never seen. Furthermore, unless he's got something else up his sleeve, Auro can't hit me any more than he can hit houses protected by lightning rods." John scanned the table to see little smiles on the faces of Golden and Leet, Golden helping him with the anti-lightning suit, Leet with the cannon.
"All that remains is the announcement of those who will go with me. And the time of departure." John looked at Coluth across the table, the big man as impassive as ever. A man of great, good sense. "You, Coluth, and your crew, will man the boat." If things went as John planned, the boat ought to streak past the Malachite cruisers beyond the harbor entrance like they were capsized in the swimming pool of a roach motel! If the increased wind on the open sea didn't snap off the masts. Nothing like a "cat" for speed. "I'll take Whar and several guards. It never hurts to have marines."
John looked at Coluth to see if the Admiral had any objections to taking that many troops. Saw none.
A negative of sailing in a catamaran was that it didn't have the cargo space of more conventional ships, what space there was taken up by food and by the cannon. Fortunately, this world had fresh-water seas. No need to carry casks of drinking water. John would need ponies to pull the cannon, and a supply of Stil-de-grain messenger birds to tell the folks back home about his brilliant successes (real or manufactured,) one of Gagar's people to train the birds ........
"For magical punch, I think I'll also take Zwicia and, of course, Platinia. Rounding out the crew, will be Golden."
Golden, expressionless as usual, raised his hand, John nodding in his direction. "Would I not serve best by staying here?" the formal young man asked soberly.
A suggestion John had expected. No doubt caused by John's decision to take Zwicia, Golden keeping what distance he could from the Weird.
"Sorry, but I need you."
Not really.
Not for any military purpose. It was just that something in the back of John's mind told him to watch Golden; how else to do that but to take him along to Azare?
"Everyone else stays to defend the island."
"I'm putting Mr. Robin in charge of the palace." A harmless job to get the old man out of the way.
Rethinking Robin's conduct, to be fair about it, he'd been no trouble. Rather like Zwicia, the old man kept to himself, only surfacing when John included him in meetings.
Thinking about trouble, the real trouble John had was with the palace staff -- all of them terribly glad to see him. With Aber, the Prolocutor; Bachur, Plenipotentiary; LeVayer -- butler; Orig -- barber; Heimg -- Vice Legate; Deninia -- cook ...............
John wrenched his mind to the present. "Leet, under Nator's overall command, will head his Malachite unit." In spite of the Malachite officer's age and infirmity, Leet sat a little straighter. All military. "It's your job, gentlemen," John said, eyeing each of those named, "to keep this island in Stil-de-grain hands until I return." The respective men bowed their assent.
John looked around the table to see if anyone disagreed with his plans.
Finding no one, John leaned back in his chair, more relaxed than he'd been in weeks of anxious preparation. "The rest of the day will be spent in loading the ship. You'll oversee that, Coluth?" Coluth nodded. "I'll give you a list of what I want included. Also, I'd like you to supervise dredging the mines from the harbor. We don't want the Malachites to know the harbor's clear, though, so you'll do that after they've rowed off to tie-up." Again, the nod. "I'm putting you in charge," John said, indicating Nator, "of plugging the harbor after we've left." Nator saluted, the modified salute of Roman gladiators, right fist angled across the chest.
John shifted his eyes to the others who he'd selected for the trip. "Tomorrow -- and I know how hard this is -- I want everyone on board before up-light. I want to sail out of the harbor at dawn. Get some maneuvering room on the open sea before the Malachites return from their tie-up docks to reestablish the blockade," a directive that brought the tightest of smiles from those involved, no one wanting to be outside in the dark, even in what people would admit was the general safety of the capital. It was the usual fear of those -- so far nonexistent -- nocturnal beasties that "attacked" by land or sea.
"I think that's it, gentleman," John finished, a wave dismissing all but Platinia.
What remained -- as John's men shuffled out -- was a final decision only John could make: whether or not to take along the Mage-crystal of Stil-de-grain.
On the plus side, the gem had great power -- could unleash the same kind of magic lightning the dark Mage bounced off the sky dome at Xanthin. Rub the gem, concentrate and ... wham!
The negative to taking the crystal was its potential for driving its wearer insane.
John glanced across the room to his left, the slant of the light coming through the empty room's only window telling him he had some eighteen hours to make this crucial, Mage-crystal decision.
Also plenty of time to consider -- again -- the even more frightening possibility broached by the doomed Malachite ambassador.
Just how likely was it that, in defeat, a crazed Auro could/would push the "button?"
After much thought, John had figured out how Auro could accomplish world destruction, an idea John had gotten from the way Auro was using the sky dome to angle bolts at Xanthin.
Surely, this world of variable gravity bands was an artificial construction, a kind of terrarium world -- as historian Paul, back home, had called it upon hearing John's description of the place. A flat world with a dome for a sky. A dome that kept in the air they all breathed.
John's question of the moment was about the sky dome's strength. About how long it would hold up to unusual stress ... like having lightning bounced off it. Was it just John's imagination or, during the middle of the day when the air was clear, had he been able to distinguish dark spots on the yellow-colored dome over Stil-de-grain, spots that increased in number as the strikes continued? Spots that dark-Mage lightning strikes had "chipped" into the dome?
If single strikes damaged the unnatural dome, John had to wonder what would happen if, in a paroxysm of defeat, the evil Mage-King loosed all his remaining power at the protective sky-shell! Punch a hole in this sky and ......
John shook his head. With death by depressurization at least a possibility, John's only course of action was to get his crude, black-powder cannon close enough to Auro to blow the dark Mage to bits before the evil sorcerer knew what hit him!
-22-
"Something's wrong," John mumbled, stopping in the middle of the dimly-lighted trail, wondering at the same time how much of what he said could be understood. About as much as he could grasp of what the women were saying, probably. Perhaps five words in ten.
Behind him, the ponies came to an immediate stop, the small animals glad to rest after wearisome miles of dragging the heavy cannon cart through the soft dirt of the inland road.
While John was troubled by this new phenomena, he didn't feel threatened by it.
Curious. Here he was, walking into the teeth of danger he knew nothing about, yet all he felt was ... numb.
Could his current unnatural calm be the partial result of things going as well as could be expected?
Luck.
To begin with, the necessary provisions had "fit" into the catamaran's cramped cargo hold: first, the cannon, tied down securely, its fuse roped to it in a watertight bag. In addition, Coluth had been able to pack in enough food for man and beast, extra clothing, coils of light rope, disassembled pony cart (ponies "stabled" on deck before the masts,) John's protective suit and the wire "shrouds" in another watertight sack, fire stone torches, capped keg of gunpowder with ladle, cannonballs. Other necessities included fishing equipment, pony harness, large cage of golden messenger birds, casks for dipping water from the sea, cups, dishes, extra clothing, carpentry tools, bandages, splints -- everything necessary to fix anything or anyone at sea.
As expected, the catamaran had zig-zagged right through the sluggish line of baffled Malachite cruisers beyond the mouth of Xanthin Island, leaving them literally in its wake.
Tacking across the wide loops of current up Sea Minor, Coluth had handled the boat like a veteran yachtsman, the "cat" holding together as it beat to windward into the narrows of Sea Throat.
So far, so good.
Following sailor-lore of how best to approach Azare, Coluth had put the boat on a long reach in the very center of Sea Throat, that line taking them, at last, into the pewter waters of the black band.
Black band?
Not quite. While the Malachite sky was transformed into an ominous, angry bruise the moment they entered Azare waters, the "black" band's sky proved to be more taupe than sable, the lighter colored sky canceling a major fear of John's: that in black band territory, John would have no magical help at all in translating Stil-de-grain to English. As it was, the brooding heavens of Azare "leaked" enough light to see by and to provide some linguistic aid.
Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series Page 23
