Telriy did nothing to stop him as he took flight and he did not look back.
It took almost a full hour for his anger to cool. For the first few minutes, he simply flew an orbit about the encampment, seething, but the cool air and solitude eventually moderated the keen edge of his colic. After his thoughts cleared somewhat and he realized that the Phaelle'n might return, he began to scan outward for any sign of their presence, then expanded his circuit when the associated possibility of ground attack occurred to him. The bucolic countryside presented no Phaelle'n legions or magical apparatus creeping upon the unsuspecting Mhajhkaeirii and at length he relaxed his vigilance, meandering along without purpose or direction.
At one point, he took a thirst, and, spotting a well beside a large rambling house about two-thirds of a league from the crossroads, he descended for a drink. Shut up tight, the house was from all appearances empty, the occupants no doubt spooked by the magical invasion of the Mhajhkaeirii'n evacuees just down the road. Excellently maintained, the well had a stone paved apron and a tile roof supported on four brick columns. There was, however, no rope and bucket hanging from the pulley on the cross arm; the owners had apparently taken it with them.
He made a swing around the house but found no container or utensil to retrieve the water. Following his natural inclination, he started to break into the house, but hesitated, contemplating the consequence of the Magician-King of the Mhajhkaeirii burglarizing a yeoman's cottage. The pomposity of the thought made him laugh at himself, but still, he did not try the door.
He spent some minutes in a futile attempt to spell the water up the masonry lined well, but could not discover a way to raise the liquid using flux modulations. The water itself defied infusion and none of the common elements around him -- dirt, air, grass -- responded favorably to his efforts. Finally giving up, he rose once more and winged his way toward the crossroads.
Number One had returned to the tail end of the line of the three barges and the other two surviving skyships, and Telriy looked to be jockeying it into position in order to latch on to the train.
Avoiding her and another probable shouting match, he made up his mind to let her do just as she saw fit and instead landed near a group of legionnaires using shovels to scrape a firebreak around the still roaring coals of the devastated Number Two.
A fugleman ran up to him immediately and saluted.
"My lord king, Lord Ghorn wanted t' speak with y' as soon as y' was back! I should send word y're here?"
Still taken aback by the lightning change in his status and the accompanying transformation in the general demeanor of the Mhajhkaeirii, it took Mar a moment to register the fact that the fugleman was not simply being polite, but actually asking his permission to inform the Prince-Commander of his return.
Not having spoken to the prince since the last retreat from the city, he wondered for a moment if Lord Ghorn might be holding any ill will against him due to the unorthodox nature of his rescue. Bemusedly, he nodded his head. "That'd be fine."
While the legionnaire trotted away, Mar took stock. Lying about a hundred paces from the docking tower, the wreckage of Number Two straddled the northern arm of the Elboern road, scattered in a small area in the fields to either side. Although the crops and earth had been scorched for a short distance from the piles of burning timbers, the fires had not spread further into the encampment. Groups of Mhajhkaeirii'n armsmen had organized fire brigades to monitor the threat and others were escorting segments of refugees to a safer distance away from the pyre.
When no immediate demands for his magic presented themselves, Mar found himself studying the yellow, soaring flames of Number Two for an extended moment. As with all things, fire had its own distinct and fascinating ethereal signature. The flux that mirrored the flames was composed of several sound-colors. Prominent among them was a sifting-purple that seemed to seep from the heart of the coals, transforming to a slightly darker exuberant gray mist before it merged with the background ether. Experimenting, he brushed his magical sense against a transient hint of the sifting-purple emerging from a smoking and blackened brand at the edge of the blaze. Instantly, flames sprouted from the charcoaled piece and danced along its short length.
The arrival of Lord Ghorn, who must have only been steps away, forestalled further experimentation. Mar moved away from the fire to meet them. The prince, Lord Purhlea, Mhiskva, Aerlon, and half a dozen other walking-wounded marine and legion officers, most of whom Mar recognized, came toward him at a pace that suggested urgency but not alarm.
Hobbling up with the aid of a cane made from half a spear shaft, the Prince-Commander, with Mhiskva, Purhlea, and Aerlon his watchful shadows and the others in a clutch behind, asked, "My lord magician, is there any sign of another attack?"
The Mhajhkaeirii'n lord's form of address reminded Mar that Ghorn -- luckily -- had been unconscious at the disastrous moment of the Blood Oath. As far as he could tell, the prince's demeanor toward him was its normal combination of gruffness and professionalism.
"Not yet, but we'd better expect them at any time." The presumption that other airborne attacks were inevitable was one that Mar shared.
"My lord king, should we order that the civilians be moved out into smaller camps, to present a less concentrated target?" Lord Purhlea asked.
Mar suppressed a frown. He had not known specifically that the Knight-Commander had taken the Oath, but now there was no doubt. He shook his head. "I couldn't defend them if they were all spread out. I may be able to deflect their fire, but only over a small area."
"This new Phaelle'n threat makes our position here untenable," Lord Ghorn judged. "We should plan to relocate as soon as possible."
"Now that the Monks have skyships of their own, an open camp such as we have here is decidedly vulnerable," Aerlon contributed. "We need rather some solid cavern where we might take shelter from attack from above."
Mhiskva frowned. "We are better than ten thousand civilians and three thousand armsmen. We would need a cavern the size of a small city."
"To my knowledge, no such cavern exists in all the world," Lord Ghorn stated. "I would think that the deep cellars and redoubts of a fortress might offer some protection, but aside from the Citadel, I know of nothing large enough to shelter us all."
"My lord, what of the Castle of the Winds in Pamplyea?" one of the junior officers, Legate Rhel, suggested.
"A dry ruin on a desolate crag that is collapsing of its own weight," the prince countered. "One attack would turn it into a pile of rubble with us buried beneath it."
"We could dig our own shelters into the ground," Aerlon mused. "Perhaps lay logs over trenches and heap mounds of soil atop them."
"That might work," Lord Ghorn agreed. "Not here, though. We are still only three day's march from the city. Phaelle'n legions may already be on the way, now that they know exactly where we are."
"My lord," Mhiskva asked, "shall I give orders to prepare to set sail for Pamplyea?"
The prince shook his head slowly. "I doubt that that would be far enough. The monks will likely soon extend their invasion throughout all the home provinces. In addition, the new manor house and the hamlet cottages are built mainly of wood. They would offer no protection."
"There's a legion post in Elboern," another of the junior officers suggested.
"That is only another five leagues and still too close to my mind. In addition, it would be impractical to quarter our entire host in the town."
When Mar opened his mouth to speak, all of the others, including Lord Ghorn, fell quiet. "I know of a place. There's a large plateau in the forest off to the north along the Ice River. At its top are the ruins of an extensive town or fortress, and I think it's big enough to take all of us. A lot of the buildings are in good shape and would give some shelter to the civilians till we could build something more permanent."
The Prince-Commander looked immediately interested. "How defensible would it be against land attack?"
"Without magic, it can
't be reached. The edge of the plateau all the way around is a sheer cliff probably five hundred armlengths high."
"My lord king," Mhiskva asked, "how far is it from here?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe thirty or forty leagues, maybe less. It took me several days to reach Mhajhkaeirii'n territory, but the speed of my sand raft was much less than the speed that the wooden skyships are capable of."
"That once seemed a good distance," Aerlon commented. "But now with ships that can sail on the air, it hardly seems but a short jaunt."
"True," Lord Ghorn agreed. "However, as far as that goes, a thousand leagues could be considered the same."
Mhiskva nodded. "It does seem to be the best of poor choices, my lords."
The Prince-Commander made up his mind. "Then with your permission, my lord magician, we will assemble and prepare to embark for your plateau."
Mar took a breath, uncomfortably aware that Lord Ghorn had not presented this request as a mere courtesy. "Fine with me."
"Captain, begin preparations for departure."
"Aye, my lord Prince."
Struck by an immediate problem, Mar spoke up before the captain could depart. "We can't take everyone at once."
Lord Ghorn raised his eyebrows. "This I understood. Even with our skyship fleet reduced, we should still be able to transport the entire contingent in stages as before, or am I mistaken?"
"No, we could do it that way, but I can't be in two places at once. If I stayed with the camp and Telriy steered the skyships, then the barge train would be completely vulnerable. I think the Phaelle'n skyships could knock all of them down in one pass. If I went to protect the barge train, the refugees here would be helpless. Another attack like the last one would decimate the people here on the ground."
"It would take a fleet of skyships," Lord Purhlea warned, "perhaps an armada, to move everyone at once."
"How many skyships, exactly?" Lord Ghorn wanted to know.
A subaltern holding a bundle of notes and evidently acting as clerk to the group spoke up. "Using figures generated by our experience, the carrying capacity of the remaining skyships and barges is no more than two thousand. Call it eighteen hundred with an allowance for cargo. To carry the remaining approximately eleven thousand individuals, we would need a minimum of twenty-two skyships of the current size and configuration."
"We haven't the timbers to build even one," Aerlon pointed out.
"My lords," Rhel interrupted, "the King mentioned rafts. Would the magic work if we cut all the trees roundabouts and built log rafts?"
All eyes turned to Mar. "Yes, I could make them fly. I can make anything of wood fly. For some reason that I don't know, wood seems to have a close affinity for the lifting and driving spells. I'm not sure what spells the green wood would need, but I'll have no trouble figuring them out."
Lord Ghorn stroked his chin. "We would need tools and supplies that we do not currently have in quantity -- spikes, ropes, hammers, saws, adzes --"
"I can get those," Mar promised with burgeoning enthusiasm. He had a solution that would -- quite happily -- allow him to exercise skills other than magical.
"The hamlets in this area could ill afford to loose the mass of things that would need for the construction of the rafts," the Prince-Commander demurred. "While we have clear right to requisition everything the yeomanry and peasants possess, I believe we must tread lightly in order to defend their existing loyalty to the Prince. It would not do for heavy-handed acts on our part to provide the monks with fertile new ground in which to plant their vile teachings."
"I didn't mean that we should take the supplies from around here."
"Where then, my lord magician?"
"From Mhajhkaei, of course. I'll steal them from the Brotherhood."
SEVEN
With barely a whisper of sound from the hull of the rowboat, Mar coasted through the dark, peering ahead intently at the maze of roofs and upper storeys through which he wound his way. Mhiskva had had his marines paint a coating of crushed charcoal mixed with flax oil to the underside of the small craft in hopes of preventing its betrayal by any reflected light from below, but he had known that any keen-eyed Phaelle'n watchmen would notice the dark shape moving against the stars. Thus, once he had crossed over the city walls, he had dropped vertically at a breath stealing rate, descending in mere seconds from better than two hundred manheight to no more than two above the roofs of a neighborhood of nondescript houses.
As far as he could tell, his entrance into Mhajhkaei had not been undetected. In the distance, lights showed near the harbor and back to his left around the Citadel, but there was no sign of alarm in either place and the boroughs over which he passed were uniformly still and quiet.
After consultation with Mhiskva on the phases of the moons, Mar had chosen to depart so that he arrived over the city just two hours before dawn, when the night would be at its blackest. Father Moon set early at this latitude at this time of year, but the eccentric Cousins had progressed into their day period and would spring up from the north within but three-quarters of an hour of the setting of the large moon. Currently in its brightest season, the Lesser Cousin would put out almost as much light as Father Moon at a quarter and while he would have a short window of complete darkness to reach his target, the loading of the tools and supplies and his escape from the city would need be performed in the silver twilight.
Lord Ghorn's most telling argument against the raid had been, "As you said yourself, my lord magician, you cannot be in two places at once. The camp will be defenseless against air attack while you are gone."
"True," Mar had allowed, "but I'll be moving toward the Phaelle'n and should be able to detect any possible attack. If they send out their skyships, I'll come back."
"We could also disburse the remaining skyships, perhaps conceal them in groves of trees," Mhiskva had suggested.
"It would be prudent to break up the camp likewise in the King's absence," Aerlon had added. "The civilians should not be concentrated here in one spot. They have rested some and should be able to move at least some distance away from the crossroads. With proper planning, we should be able to maintain scheduled distribution of rations. This will also allow for better sanitation and foraging."
The other officers had also quickly adopted the plan, making suggestions on how the armsmen and existing victuals should be distributed. Rhel had brought up Aerlon's proposal for underground shelters and several of the others had begun discussing how thick the overburden should be to provide adequate protection.
Mar had suspected that part of this quick acceptance of the risky scheme was the unspoken inclination of the armsmen to go on the attack, to strike back at the Brotherhood, if only in this minor and insignificant way.
Submitting to the inevitable, Lord Ghorn had sighed and urged Mar, "Take some of the marines with you, at least."
"Do they know how to be silent? You know, death is one creak away silent? I do. I can get in and get out without anyone knowing and that's the only way this will work. My magic is the only help that I need."
The Prince-Commander had sighed again. "Very well, but I must insist that you wait until we have made adequate preparation."
Thus, despite his raw desire to go at once, Mar had had to wait through the remainder of that day and all of the following. During this time, he had occupied himself with visits to the wounded marines and legionnaires. His understanding of the relationship between physiology and its flux fields was still hit or miss; techniques that worked on some did not work on others. For the majority of the armsmen, he had not been able to restore full health, but he had managed to close most open wounds and smother infection, so that many who had seemed near death had shown great improvement.
This near miraculous magic had drawn expressions of awe and amazement from the on looking marines and legionnaires, and as he had progressed through the tents, they had begun to grow quiet at his approach, many dropping to one knee in reverential salute.
At first, he had
felt slightly annoyed at this, but eventually had simply ignored it, thinking that it would only make him seem more pompous if he ordered them to stop.
Without being obvious about it, he had taken pains not to encounter Telriy, leaving to her the task of moving the skyships and thereafter to her own devices. At nightfall of the first day, Fugleman Truhsg, one of Quaestor Eishtren's men, had brought the terse message that the Queen had established quarters in Number One, now moored two-thirds of a league to the west in the lee of a large farmhouse. Mar had thanked the man but sent no reply. Later that evening, mentioning to the four legionnaires who were attempting to guard him unobtrusively (with little success) that he needed a nap to "recharge his ethereal energies," he had flopped into an unoccupied cot in one of the legionnaires' tents and feigned sleep until actual slumber had overtaken him.
Now, he was less than a third of a league from his goal: a storage depot of the Mhajhkaeirii'n Marines a few blocks north of the harbor wall. All the Mhajhkaeirii had agreed that it should have survived the bombardments and fires.
His original inclination had been to slip aboard the ships of the Brotherhood's fleet to locate the needed items, but had quickly seen the logic in Mhiskva and Ghorn's argument that he had no way of knowing which ship might contain the tools, fasteners, and cordage in sufficient quantity. After considering numerous likely targets, the Mhajhkaeirii had settled on the depot, which, according to a vice-captain who had had duty there, had stocks of all of the items on their list.
Mar banked the rowboat around a chimney, trying to match the streets below with his memory of the map that the vice-captain had sketched for him. One of the sand sphere buckets slid slightly and he stretched out a foot to steady it. The officer had described the depot as a brick and timber building about four manheight tall at the corner of Clarion Street and Old Mucker Lane. When Mar had asked him specifically about the roof, explaining that the upper part of the building would be more easily recognizable to him from above, the vice-captain had admitted frankly that he had never paid it much attention.
Key to Magic 03 King Page 5
