Lord Ghorn gave Mhiskva a significant glance, then stood, favoring his bad leg, and took up his cane. "I have numerous other matters to attend to. Perhaps we should meet again later this evening?"
"Alright."
After the prince had gone, Mar resumed eating. As Mhiskva seemed disinterested in idle conversation, content simply to sit quietly with his thoughts, Mar gratefully did likewise and concentrated on his food. The stew was palatable and filled the void in his stomach, but the crackers were all but inedible. Nevertheless, he consumed it all in a workmanlike manner and when he was done, he took special care to return his and Wilhm's utensils. Finally, following Mhiskva's directions with the marines and Wilhm as his constant shadows, he went to find Aunt Whelsi.
For want of better housing, the newly arrived neighbors had remained aboard Galley Number Two, now moored in a large alcove cut into the woodlot. The spreading hardwoods to either side of the galley overreached it and thus hid it partially from overhead view. Mar had not seen any of the other skyships as they crossed the encampment and assumed that the Mhajhkaeirii had made similar efforts to camouflage them.
The shipwright, Khlosb'ihs, clambered down a ladder as the magician and his entourage approached. Behind him came his sons and several other sturdy men, including Frem and Orhv, who all took station beside Khlosb'ihs. Most of them carried improvised weapons of one sort or other: lengths of board, belaying pins, and a broken oar. Ulor and the marines spread out, eying the men who confronted them with a certain predatory gleam in their eyes.
"You can't have her," Khlosb'ihs declared sternly as Mar coasted to a surprised stop.
"Who?"
"Aunt Whelsi, of course!"
Mar had trouble following. "I've just come to talk with her for a few minutes."
Khlosb'ihs exchanged glances with his companions. "You've not come to arrest her?"
"Why would I do that?"
"For being a witch."
Mar laughed. "Don't be ridiculous."
The shipwright looked slightly less sure of himself. "Then why have you brought this gang of armsmen?"
"I didn't bring them. They're with Wilhm and he's with me."
"Oh, that's a good idea then," Khlosb'ihs allowed, showing slight embarrassment as he relaxed. "He doesn't know his own strength, sometimes."
The subject of the conversation, standing to Mar's side, observed the episode with serene indifference.
Orhv stepped up to address the magician. "He hasn't had one of his moods, has he?"
"No, he's fine. If you don't have an objection, I'm going to put him in the service of the Lord-Protector."
Orhv lowered his voice. "But isn't the Lord-Protector unbalanced?"
"No doubt about it. But Lord Hhrahld is also a very big man."
Orhv looked at his brother, then let his eyes drift over to Mhiskva, who nodded in greeting. "So you think that Wilhm's a... well, I suppose it'd be right for Wilhm to be among his own ... with people like himself."
Mhiskva smiled kindly, "On my word, I will take pains to see that your brother does not come to mishap. Some of my men will bring him his meals and I will make certain that you are able to visit with him regularly."
"Is this what you want, Wilhm?" Orhv asked his brother.
The big man inclined his head. "I'll stay with the pirate for a while."
Aunt Whelsi appeared by the rail of the galley and waggled her hands at the marines and her erstwhile defenders. "Now that everything's all settled, the boy and I have some things to talk about. You all go find something to occupy yourselves. Now, shoo!"
With Khlosb'ihs and his neighbors scattering, Mar assured Mhiskva that he would be fine on his own, left Wilhm in the care of his brother, floated up to the deck, and let his block come to rest next to the woman. Aside from a group erecting an awning at the stern, the deck was unoccupied.
"Not much of a throne for a king," Aunt Whelsi opined.
Mar made a careless gesture with his right hand. "I'm not much of a king."
"Why haven't you had your arm set? It'll just be more painful the longer you wait."
"I thought maybe you could help me with it."
"I can put your shoulder back together and straighten the bones in your arm, but if you mean something more than that, I'm afraid I don't have any spells that can knit bones."
Mar let out a puff of air in disappointment. He had hoped for a quick, magical relief of his injury. "Is there anything that you could tell me that can help me learn how to heal bones with flux?"
"What's flux?"
"Maybe you call it something else. It's the basis for all magic." He waved a hand and whirled the background ether into multi-tonal rainbow-edged vortices. "I sense it as a combination of sounds and colors, but you probably interpret it in a different way. It's everywhere and in everything. I've learned to control a few of the sound-colors that weave through a person's body -- I can heal some wounds and cure some fevers in some people -- but the patterns and combinations are extremely complex and I don't understand the majority of those that I can perceive. As you're a healer, I was hoping that you could explain some of them to me."
"I can't say as I've ever experienced anything like that," Aunt Whelsi told him, shaking her head. "The healing magic that I can do was taught me by my father's cousin. I apprenticed to her when I was six and studied for seventeen years. Now, Mistress Callae, she was an artist and may have been able to see this flux, but I don't experience anything out of the ordinary when I apply a phylactery. I learned all of them by rote. It took me almost six years to master the blood mixing song that saved your life."
"I see." His tone revealed the extent of his disappointment. When she had used magic to keep him alive, he had believed that he had finally met a real magician, someone that could expand his anemic understanding of the principles that controlled the use of magic.
"I do know a great deal concerning physiology, though," Aunt Whelsi admitted. "Most of the healing that I do involves practical physical methods, concoctions of body stimulating compounds, and surgeon's techniques. If you need information about how a body is supposed to work, I might be able to help you."
Without thinking, he shifted his weight slightly left and ignited a firestorm of pain in his arm and shoulder, making him suck in a sharp, keening breath. "To start with, tell me everything you know about bones."
FOURTEEN
Lord Hhrahld walked up to Wilhm, leaned across to peer into his eyes, then grabbed his shoulders with both hands and tried to knee him in the groin.
Wilhm, faster almost than sight, twisted at the waist to block the blow, grabbed one of the Lord Protectors wrists and threw him across his hip. The giant pirate sailed better than three times his own length, bounced a couple of times off rowing benches with splintering crashes, flailing limbs, and flying debris, then curled and rolled to land on his feet, his disarranged white mane whipping like a horse's tail. His men crowded back out of the way, hooting and laughing. Some of the more intrepid among them began to offer odds.
Wilhm seemed hardly ruffled, but his expressionless eyes now tracked the pirate unblinkingly. Up until this, the young giant's responses to the external world had seemed slow, ponderous, and disinterested, both in a mental and physical sense.
Mar, having expected some such tumult from the encounter, did not react, but Ulor, standing alongside him, was agog.
"That Gaaelfharenii moves faster than anyone I have ever seen, my lord king," Ulor gasped.
Mar watched closely as Lord Hhrahld, who had his great sword slung at his side, stalked back toward them with his sharp, heavy steps vibrating the entire deck. He would intervene, if necessary, to prevent severe harm to either man, but he had suspicions concerning Wilhm that needed verification. Absently, he asked Ulor, "You think that Wilhm is a spirit?"
"No, my lord king. Not if it's something like a ghost that you mean, but everyone knows that the Gaaelfharenii will return when Mhajhkaei needs them. The Gods will send them, just like they sent you
."
When the Lord-Protector neared Wilhm again, Mar, still observing the two colossi fixedly, wondered aloud, "Does that make Lord Hhrahld and Captain Mhiskva Gaaelfharenii also?"
"Huh. You know," Ulor puzzled, "I never thought of it like that, but you must be right!"
Mar grunted, then tensed as the ancient corsair leaned in to eye the young giant for a second time. It occurring to him that a riled Lord-Protector was quite capable of simply lopping off Wilhm's head with one swing, he made ready to whisk the two men apart if need be, enchanting the leather of their boots and belts.
After a consultation with Captain Mhiskva, Mar had found Lord Hhrahld planted like a statue at the bow of one of the barges, with his gaze fixed out on a vista that only he could see. When he had dispersed the skyships, the High-Captain had had it moored in the lee of a large barn about two-thirds of a league from the crossroads. Hhrahld's remaining cutthroat crew, wounded and otherwise, had been lounged about him on the deck, most napping. They had stirred slightly when Mar, Ulor, and Wilhm -- Mar having ordered the other marines to remain aground --- came on board, but had made no move to speak or interfere.
When Mar had called out to him, The Lord-Protector had twirled about, and, ignoring all others, advanced on Wilhm.
Now, the look on Lord Hhrahld's face was decidedly odd as he demanded, "Where've you been hiding, Zheg?"
Wilhm's expression flashed briefly with confusion as he sedately processed the question. "I have been in Mhajhkaei with Orhv."
"What've you done with your sword, old son?"
"I have never had one."
"Why you stupid sot! You'll wind up dead in some gutter, running after whores like that!"
It was clear that it did not matter what response Wilhm gave. Hhrahld was following a conversation that transpired only in his own head.
The pirate let loose a guffaw. "You must be getting old, Zheg. There's been a time when you'd have knifed me for trying to waylay you like that! Glad to have you back aboard. Here, take my sword till you find yours. There are assassins everywhere."
A look of distraction overtaking him, the pirate unshipped his sword belt, passed it to Wilhm, shoved between the young man and Mar, and returned to the bow. The young Gaaelfharenii simply held the sword in one hand, arm bent at the elbow, rigid and unmoving. He gave Mar the impression that he intended to continue to hold it so until told to do otherwise, if need be, for all eternity.
Mar experienced a brief moment of doubt. This had seemed the right thing to do, but perhaps he had seen a connection where there was none. He moved so that he was in the young giant's line of sight. "Is this where you want to be, Wilhm?"
"Yes, my lord king."
"Lord Hhrahld is your pirate?"
"Yes, my lord king."
"What do you think he'll do for you?"
"The pirate will train me."
"What'll you do after you're trained?"
"I will follow you into the mountain."
"What mountain?"
"The mountain where you will go."
"Can you describe the mountain?"
"It is a mountain in my dreams."
"Do you know where the mountain is?"
"In my dreams."
Mar drew in a breath slowly. "If you decide that you want to go back to be with your brother, just tell a marine or legionnaire to bring me the message, alright?"
"Yes, my lord king."
"Well, farewell, Wilhm. I hope you'll learn what you need here."
"Farewell, my lord king."
Ulor detailed two of his marines to remain aboard the barge to keep track of Wilhm, and then Mar, after convincing the obstinate subaltern -- by the time honored tactic of simply being more obstinate -- that he himself would be perfectly safe without bodyguards, retrieved his wooden block and flew off in search of Mhiskva. After climbing to gain a view of a large part of the encampment, he spotted the marine captain by the size of his shadow. Berhl stood with him near the foot of the mooring tower, and the two men appeared to be inspecting the prototype of a shelter against aerial attack, a log and earth covered ditch. A group of workers, mostly legionnaires though there were also some civilians, stood around them.
Both officers saluted as Mar descended, and the workmen quickly knelt.
"Mhiskva, I want an order issued that there will be no more kneeling," he told the marine, not without some force. "It's distracting and disruptive."
"Aye, my lord king," Mhiskva answered, not quite smiling. He cut a sharp glance at the men and they all hurriedly stood. "I am pleased to see that you have had your arm set."
Mar rubbed his shoulder, which had started to ache again. The witch had put on separate wooden splints on upper arm and forearm and tied them up in a sling. He would not be able to wear a brigandine for a while and flitting about on the sawn-off stump, as well as making his buttocks sore, felt awkward and unnatural.
"Aunt Whelsi took care of it for me. She had a spell to numb the affected parts and it was practically painless."
"Will she be able to assist with our magical defense?"
"No, she's a healer and, by what she tells me, she can't be anything more. Her magic is old magic and cannot be adapted to war."
"A pity. I take that you have settled young Wilhm with Lord Hhrahld?"
"For now, yes. I'm just about sure that the situation is not permanent. Anyway, I came to ask if you know of a scholar among the refugees."
"What study, my lord?"
"A historian, I'd think."
The big Captain looked thoughtful for a moment then shook his head. "There are a few of the philosophers, but none that have any significant study in history."
"There's Lord Chelsfyor," Berhl suggested. "I saw him yesterday in the dinner line at the field kitchen on the southern road."
"He's a scholar?"
"Scholar and librarian. He was Principal Master Librarian for the Library of the Senate."
Feeling pressed for time, Mar did not stay to explain his purpose but immediately took his leave of the two and flew off.
Lord Chelsfyor was quite thin, obviously near-sighted, and inordinately tall, but he was also energetically spry. Unlike most Mhajhkaeirii men, who favored shorter hair, he had his nearly all gray hair it in a single, long, platted ponytail. He and several family members, including a number of children, had a plot under the shade of several small trees growing along a fencerow, almost two thousand armlengths from the crossroads.
"Travels? Oh, yes, I do know of the work." The librarian had somehow managed to come up with a stool and was bouncing a toddling grandson on one knee. The burbling tot watched Mar intently while trying to eat his own fist. "I have been trying to secure an original printing for our collection for several years. The ones that we had were made from a hand-copied version of an edition in the Viceroy's Library in Khalar."
"So you did have a copy in the Senate Library?"
"Yes, several. Some were annotated and commented and eminently useful for geographical scholarship."
"Do you think the copies are still in Mhajhkaei?"
Making a pained face, Lord Chelsfyor complained, "Their ashes certainly are."
Mar's heart sank. "The Library burned?"
"No, not the Library itself. A month before the invasion, we had crated and moved the collection to an empty warehouse in order to allow the main library building to undergo renovation. There were rust problems with the iron pins that had been used to secure some of the columns of the main reading room."
"And that warehouse was at the harbor?"
"Yes. From the roof of the Library, I saw it burn."
"I don't suppose that there's any chance that you might have read the book?"
"Oh, yes, a number of times."
Mar's hopes soared once more. "Do you remember the mention of a place called The Mother of the Seas?"
"Yes, that does sound familiar. Was it a mountain? Possibly a lake? A river? Mmmm, no, I am sorry, I cannot remember."
"Do you
remember how to get there? Or, I mean to say, how Khavurst got there?"
"No, I cannot say that I do. My lord king, you must realize that in my sixty-two years I have read thousands upon thousands of books. I can remember generalities about many of them, but often not specifics."
Mar thanked the man and departed. Then, after flying above the encampment in lazy circles for perhaps twenty minutes with the sun beginning to redden the western sky, he surrendered to the fact that he must speak with Telriy. He found her easily enough, on the south side of the woodlot, staring intently at one of the newly constructed rafts. Mar heard-saw sparks of discordant flux bouncing sporadically along the logs.
She was not alone; two legionnaires of Quaestor Eishtren's band idled about twenty-five paces away underneath the drooping limbs of a willow oak.
He landed his block within a few paces, stood up and walked stiffly to her, wincing as sharp pains attacked his thighs and back. She did not seem surprised by his arrival and if she remained angry, she concealed it with admirable proficiency.
Not bothering with pleasantries, he asked her, "What are you doing?"
She rolled her shoulders carelessly. "Practicing magic." She took in his splinted arm and his clothes, still ripped and covered in crusted blood. "I see you've been playing the hero again."
He ignored the jibe. "I need you to tell me about The Mother of the Seas."
"Gladly, husband, but I'll need something from you in return."
"Name it."
"A son."
"You mean my son."
"Of course."
"No."
"Then I'll keep what I read in Khavurst's book to myself."
"I won't give you children," Mar declared with some force. "That's a future that I'm not going to follow."
Interest sprang into her eyes. "You've had a vision of our future? What did it show you?"
"Something that will never come to pass."
Telriy shrugged again, then walked closer to him, the epitome of meekness. "After Mhiskva told me that you had gone back to Mhajhkaei, I was worried when you didn't return on time."
Key to Magic 03 King Page 11
