Finding Destiny

by Jean Johnson

  Their guide from the palace didn’t lead them toward the largest and most imposing of the machines. Not toward the giant metal man with its giant metal mallet suitable for smashing through ranks and walls and anything else in its way, nor toward the strange round platform high up on six imposing legs, and not toward the tube things which Zeilas had never seen in action, but which reportedly could fire an explosive spell-like object hundreds of yards to devastating effect, if whatever it targeted wasn’t thoroughly protected by spells.

  Instead, the man led them toward several ranks of horselike things. Vaguely horselike. They looked like jointed statues of horses, with the shanks of each horse supported by a spoked wheel between their paired hooves. Handles poked out from their mane-draped necks, seams and hinges pierced their painted flanks, and the curve of their painted spines were interrupted by leather padding shaped something like a saddle, though this saddle seemed to be part and parcel of the thing, with no girth-strap in evidence. Nor were these horses very tall, more like ponies in height.

  Their guide stopped in front of a partially disassembled horse thing, where two grease-smeared, wool-clad figures were poking their heads and hands into the metallic innards of the flank-bared beast, and loudly cleared his throat. “Ahem. Consul-in-Chief, I present Sir Zeilas, Knight and chief envoy from Arbra, and Sir Catrine, Knight-mage and sub-envoy. Envoys, I present Marta Grenspun, Consul-in-Chief of Guildara, and Gabria Springreaver, sub-Consul of the... Mage’s Guild.”

  Zeilas wondered over the man’s palpable hesitation in saying the word mage but he didn’t have time to ask. The figure in the black wool tunic pulled back from the horse thing and squinted up at them, then extended a dirty, greasy hand. She—he realized suddenly that almost half the leather-and-wool-clad figures in the room were actually females—didn’t get up off the ground, just held up her hand for clasping, one side of her mouth curled up in a wry-looking smile.

  “Welcome to Guildara, Sir Knights,” the woman stated. “I’m Marta, this is Gabria.”

  The other woman, clad in knit gray wool, lifted a hand long enough to flutter it approximately in their direction, but didn’t look up from whatever she was doing. The one named Marta, Zeilas realized belatedly, was wearing a golden circlet, but it was thin, not very ostentatious in size, and half hidden between the floppy crown and soft brim of the felted cap she wore. He did recognize the motifs which the new kingdom had chosen to represent themselves by, though: the hammer, scythe, and paintbrush forming the spokes of a gear-toothed wheel. Only in this case, the top edge of the circlet had gear teeth as well as around the medallion fixed to the front.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sir Catrine frowning slightly. For himself, Zeilas guessed this informality was a test, as was the oily state of her fingers. Clasping it without hesitation, he shook hands with her as if they were merchants conducting business, then tilted her fingers and bowed more formally over her knuckles. “A pleasure, Milady Chief. I’m Zeilas, and this is Catrine. Will there be a more formal reception where we can meet the various, ah ... Guild-heads of your government? The Consuls?”

  “Yes, there will be one. It’s scheduled for tomorrow, so that you have time to relax and prepare. In the meantime ... Gabria?” Marta asked, turning back to her companion.

  “Sir Catrine, come here please.” Scooting over, the sub-Consul made room for the lady Knight on the leather hide spread on the ground. She even patted the leather when the other woman hesitated.

  Catrine quirked her brow at Zeilas, clearly taken aback. He gave her a silent, pointed look. Sighing, she moved over to that side of the machine-horse.

  “We’re having a problem integrating shielding spells into the engine matrix,” the woman Gabria stated, pointing at something inside the metallic beast’s abdomen. “The fuel which powers the mechanism is flammable, and if anything penetrates the housing ... well, boom! Which is deadly for the riders. We’d rather not lose lives. But the new shielding runes themselves create heat, particularly when stressed. The number of explosions has been cut down, but they’re still a serious problem. Chilling spells run the risk of locking up the mechanisms, because we can’t localize them small enough with what we currently know. The priests torched their spellbooks when the Convocation disbanded everything, and the guild doesn’t have a dozen years to experiment under controlled conditions with new combinations of runes, metals, and enchantments.”

  Catrine didn’t crouch and look at the part in question. Instead, she stared at the Consul-in-Chief and her fellow envoy. “I’m ... not comfortable giving advice on how to shield a machine against magics. These are war machines.”

  Pushing to her feet, the Consul-in-Chief pulled an oil-smeared rag out of the sleeve of her tunic and scrubbed her hands. “We’re not interested in war, Sir Knight. Guildara wants peace. It’s even in our kingdom’s charter, ratified by the people and blessed by our Goddess—who Manifested last year, and whose Name has been placed on the list for the next Convocation. We will seek peace and knowledge, trade and prosperity.

  “Unfortunately, our land, and with it our charter, only covers our own claimed territory. Anything north of the Endevi Ridge is still filled with chaos, warlords, and would-be conquerors,” Marta told them. “Including a particularly annoying fellow by the name of Durn the Dreaded. He’s proclaimed himself ‘Leader of the Free North’ and is trying to build enough of a following for his own Patron Deity. Even more unfortunately, he’s built up the concept of a Patron God who thrives on war and conquest. Our Patron Goddess embodies the ideals of knowledge and prosperity. So he thinks we’ll be an easy target, as soon as his armies grow big enough. Which, by our calculations, will be this next summer, possibly even this coming spring.”

  “Durn has the exact same technology we do,” Gabria added, tilting her wool-capped head back so that she could squint up at Sir Catrine. “The same war machines culled from all the various Precinct motorbarns scattered throughout old Mekhana. Even the same percentage of freed ... victims of the False God, some of which have joined his side. The only advantages we have are that Guildara was formed out of the guilds and guard precincts in the heart of the engineering district so we have the knowledge and tools to create better machines, that neither side has access anymore to the few but horrible spells the False priesthood used to wield, and that we managed to pull ourselves together fast enough to become a kingdom and thus gain stable, educated allies.”

  “We specified we wanted a Knight-mage as one of your ambassadorial staff for two reasons,” Marta stated, facing Zeilas. “One, even the lies of the False God couldn’t hide the fact that Arbran Knights are honorable men and women. Two, your Knights and Knight-mages have successfully repelled invasions by the False God’s forces for centuries. What you know how to defeat and destroy, you should be able to figure out how to strengthen and defend.” She flicked her gaze to Sir Catrine’s face. “The Endevi Ridge is the northern border of this valley. We’re half a day’s march from that ridgeline, and a week’s march from Durn the Dreaded’s chief stronghold at most. Less, if the weather is good.”

  “And before you ask, no, we will not march north and reduce it to ashes,” Gabria asserted. “Tempting though the idea is from a defensive standpoint, it’s against our charter. No conquering anyone, no starting a war, and no using force to convince anyone to join us.”

  “If they want to join us of their own free will, they can. We have two villages north of the ridge who are negotiating with us for protection from the warlord harassing them. But we will not conquer anyone,” the Consul-in-Chief stated flatly.

  Off in the distance, someone dropped a chunk of metal which clanged, loud and sharp, on the flagstones lining the huge, drafty building. A handful of workers catcalled the fumble-fingered accident, but most of the rest attended to their own business. Marta Grenspun held the other woman’s gaze, unmoved by the commotion.

  “Now, you have the knowledge of spellcrafting which my people lack, Sir Catrine. It is up to your c
onscience whether or not you will stand idly by and allow your allies to die because you refused to teach us the knowledge we need to protect ourselves. We’re willing to let you have a glimpse at our engineering abilities,” she added, spreading her still-somewhat-stained hands to indicate the cold, cavernous building around them, with its strange metal machines lit by the clerestory windows high overhead. “Secrets which no outsider has ever been allowed to see before now, and secrets which we’re well aware you could use against us. What are you willing to share, to give this alliance a chance?”

  Catrine looked like she wanted to argue the point. There were too many centuries of spilled blood between Arbra and Mekhana ... but Mekhana was no more. Having more experience at diplomacy, Zeilas could see just how much this odd Guildara version of a queen wanted to put the old enmities aside. Nobody would expose their secrets so thoroughly to foreigners, if they weren’t very much interested in cooperation.

  Switching from Mekhanan to Arbran, Zeilas addressed his fellow Knight. “In the interest of fairness, I should point out that we can walk away right now, and do so with at least some minor information about their mechanical secrets, without exposing any of our own. But to be fair, I will also point out that His Majesty wishes us to secure peace between our two lands. These people are willing to pay for that peace by exposing a potential vulnerability. If they wanted war, they wouldn’t expose themselves. Certainly not without prompting or promises secured in advance, none of which they have.”

  “But, to shield their machines, protecting them against our most effective spells?” Sir Catrine protested. “Wouldn’t that tempt them into using the new protections in an invasion against us? I don’t know if I can risk that!”

  From the way the Consul-in-Chief’s mouth quirked up at one corner, Zeilas guessed she could understand at least part of their words. Given how open she was being about letting the two Knights see their mechanical secrets—even if he and Catrine couldn’t understand most of what they saw in this oversized barn, lacking any knowledge of engineering—he didn’t bother to disguise his reply, though he did keep it in Arbran.

  “Diplomacy involves things like keeping an open mind toward offers and counteroffers, gauging the sincerity in offers of cooperation, an ability to weigh benefits and disadvantages, and being willing to compromise and meet the other side up to halfway. King Tethek made me the lead envoy because I have experience in these matters,” he told her.

  The Consul-in-Chief started cleaning more of the grease from her fingers, using a clean scrap of the rag she had pulled from her sleeve, but he could tell she was listening. So was Catrine. Sort of.

  “Fine. What do you, in your vast experience, say about giving them the very means to shield their evil machines against our spells?” Catrine asked, hands shifting to her hips.

  “I say, first of all, their machines are not evil. They are simply tools, just like our swords and our lances. It is the people who wield them that determine whether they are used for good or for evil.” Zeilas could see that same half smile lurking on Marta’s face, but the other woman, Gabria, watched them with the sort of blank fascination of someone understanding nothing more than vocal tones and body language. “Second, even I, a non-mage, know that for every defensive spell invented, a counterspell will be developed sooner or later.

  “Third, we will extend a reasonable amount of trust, and we will be honorable in acknowledging these Guildarans’ efforts to offer their half of a diplomatic compromise. We learn about their machines, and they learn about our magics—you will notice that they offered first, with a show of trust on their part. The diplomatic thing to do is acknowledge that show of trust, and respond with some of our own. You reward good behavior with more good behavior, after all,” he reminded her. “Particularly when it’s finally being displayed.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other side of Marta’s mouth twitch briefly upward. Facing the Consul-in-Chief, he switched back to Mekhanan. Or more properly, Guildaran, now that they were a new kingdom.

  “Forgive us, Milady Chief,” he apologized, giving her a short bow. “Sir Catrine’s reluctance is typical of too many years of antagonism between your predecessor kingdom and our homeland. But King Tethek made his wishes clear. We are here to seek out and establish peaceful relations with Guildara. That you are willing to risk the secrets of your kingdom’s defenses shows more than mere words how much your side is interested in establishing those peaceful relations with Arbra. We, in turn, shall do our best to meet and match your sincerity.

  “Sir Catrine, please assist the, ah ... sub-Consul, is it?” he asked, not entirely sure of her title. He knew a Consul was the head of a guild, but the rank and meaning of a sub-Consul eluded him.

  “Sub-Consul Gabria of the ... Mage’s Guild,” the woman still kneeling on the ground confirmed, again with that same hesitation their long-departed escort had used. “Advisory staff to the Consul-in-Chief.”

  “Not to mention, my good friend,” Marta added, both sides of her mouth curving up in a warm smile.

  Zeilas blinked, surprised at how feminine the full-mouth smile made the Consul-in-Chief look, feminine and pretty. Her face was rather square compared to Arbran features, with plain, gray blue eyes and wisps of ash brown hair showing beneath the edge of her soft-felted cap. The knitted bulk of her tunic hid most of her figure, which she carried in a straight-backed, no-nonsense stance when facing off against Sir Catrine. But that smile made her beautiful.

  It returned to its previous halfway state when she looked back at him. Tearing his gaze away from her, Zeilas gave Catrine a firm look. “Assist and instruct sub-Consul Gabria, Sir Catrine—in the interest of earning enough trust on both sides hopefully to build a solid foundation for peace.”

  She rolled her eyes, but the Knight-mage started to lower herself to the leather mat on which the woman Gabria knelt. Zeilas switched back to Arbran, this time couching his words somewhat for subtlety.

  “And do make sure to treat this machine as if you were going to be its very next operator. It will only do what we create and enspell it to do. It is not evil, in and of itself,” he reminded her. “Evil only exists when someone acts in an evil manner.”

  The dark look she shot his way let him know his message had struck home. Good. Now she’ll think twice about sabotaging the machine or offering poor spell choices that could cause harm to its operators.

  “Sir Zeilas, while your fellow envoy cooperates with my advisor,” Marta offered in Guildaran, “would you like a tour of the Palace Precinct’s motorbarn? It may be the first time an Arbran has had the chance to view an intact war engine from up close with no fear for their personal safety. Hopefully, it won’t be the last time.”

  He gave her a half bow. “I am honored by your offer and would be delighted to be given a tour.”

  TWO

  “This way, then.” Gesturing at the other machine-horses, she walked beside him, pacing down the row. “These are what we call motorhorses. They can run on smooth, level roads as fast as a cantering horse, but without needing to slow down and rest every so often, as a flesh-and-blood horse needs.

  “Nor do they need to graze, though they do ‘eat’ a special liquid every hundred miles—the distance a man can walk in three days. It’s refined from common grains and grasses, empowering their movement, though it isn’t magic. We understand you occasionally use magic on your own carriages and wagons in Arbra to move goods and people from place to place, yes?”

  “Yes. Horseless wagons with special locomotion spells. They’re expensive, but reliable when needed, such as when going up hills with heavy loads,” he admitted. “Horses are cheaper, particularly in the flatter sections of Arbra, but in the northern mountains, the miners and loggers prefer to use enspelled carts despite the cost. I understand these were used as a sort of counterpoint to our Knights on the battlefield, back in the Mekhanan days.”

  “More for scouting than for jousting, but yes, they could be used for that. They do requir
e both hands on the controlling rods, though, so we tend to team up in pairs for motorhorse battle. These are our small mobile cannons, and beyond them are the large siege cannons,” she added, nodding at the next group of machines they approached, the ones with the long tubes on wheels. “They’re used for firing explosive charges, sort of like exploding magical Artifacts. We’d rather not use them for two reasons. One, some of the minerals used to make the explosives are culled from farmlands, and Guildara is more mountainous than the northern lands, so our agricultural resources are geared far more toward feeding ourselves than in procuring the components we need.”

  “And the other reason?” Zeilas asked.

  Her gaze, fastened on the tube things, looked haunted for a moment. “They gouge holes in the land. Ruin crops, divot meadows ... destroy lives. We have stationary cannons at all the Precinct forts, of course, for defensive purposes, but we’d rather not see them on the move, trampling the land. These will be retrofitted for permanent posts of their own. Once they’ve been repaired, of course. The others that used to fill that back bay, there, were sent out before the start of winter to the two villages who wanted asylum from Warlord Durn. They’ve had their wheels removed and their axles filled with molten lead, so they cannot be easily returned to mobility, nor turned back against us.”

  “A sensible precaution,” Zeilas murmured. Among the cannons, which were being repaired, over half of the men and women working on them slanted him wary looks as he passed. Deciding bluntness was the best tactic, he added, “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but somehow I don’t think everyone in Guildara is happy to see an Arbran wandering around inside this place.”

  “So long as you behave yourself, they’ll behave themselves. At least, in my presence,” she allowed. “I’m riding a tide of popularity based on a strong platform of favorable reforms, and the blessing of our Goddess Manifesting during the election process.”