Key to Magic 03 King

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  Standing near the center of the warehouse so that they could observe all of the activity without having to tramp about, he told Ulor, "She's from the Old City."

  "Eh, how can you tell, sir?"

  "Her demeanor, I suppose. Find Thyrael, would you? I'd like to talk to him."

  And, as Mar had suspected, the master carpenter frankly admitted that the young woman was indeed the daughter of the Patriarch's scribe.

  "So she ran off and married Trhisgan," Mar stated. "That is why the Guard has not arrested him."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Not the most intelligent thing for her to do, was it?"

  "No, sir. But there won't be any trouble. If you prefer, I can send her back home."

  "No, she can stay as long as there will be no trouble with the Guard."

  "There won't be, sir. Her father might not be happy, but he can't have the marriage set aside with the baby coming along."

  Thyrael was as good as his word. There was no unwanted attention from any of the municipal authorities and the work on the warehouse was completed by the evening of the following day. The front of the building now sported a sturdy set of tall gates that slid on steel wheels to make an opening twenty paces wide. The windows had been thoroughly cleaned and the broken panes covered over, and enough of the roof tiles replaced to insure that a rain would not drench the interior. All the other doors save one to the alley at the rear had been sealed over with thick planks and that remaining exit replaced with an iron bound panel a span thick. Along the center of the now swept floor, four heavy cradles awaited the keel of Number One.

  As the work gang gathered up their tools and began to leave and Ulor counted out the final payment to the master carpenter, Mar told him, "I will have some more work in a day or two, if you are interested."

  Thyrael and his workers had shown a proper lack of curiosity, asking no questions concerning his business or the use to which the warehouse would be put. That critically vital characteristic and their unmistakable skill and industriousness made them faultlessly suited to the repair of the skyship.

  Smiling, Thyrael stowed away the fat bag of silver coins. "Indeed we would be, Merchant, and happy for the work. I, or one or more of my sons, will be at the Guild Hall every day. Just send us word."

  Later, when the night was at its blackest, with Ulor and the armsmen left to stand guard, Mar strapped on a brigandine, climbed up to the roof of the building, and flew up from the city.

  His flight across the river and the Old City was uneventful. Though there would certainly come a time when every inhabitant of every region would know of and fear skyships, none of the inattentive guards around the palaces and fortresses gave any indication that they had even once thought of the possibility of attack from above.

  There were no lights showing on the skyship, but he flew unerringly to it, sensing Telriy's presence in the ether. All of the legionnaires, including Aael, were waiting on the upper deck in full armor. Wilhm was there as well, but asleep and snoring in an improvised bed in the second rowboat. Talking quietly, Telriy and Yhejia sat on stools on the steerage platform, and when Mar came down noiselessly alongside them, the young woman rose and enveloped him in a hug. Before Telriy released him, she gave him a lingering kiss.

  Uncomfortably conscious of the eyes of the Mhajhkaeirii, Mar broke away from her and turned to Eishtren, who had walked across the deck to salute. "All set to go, Quaestor?"

  "Yes, my lord king. All gear is stowed and secured. We have blackened the hull as instructed and covered any metal that might betray a reflection. Auxiliaries and supernumeraries in their bunks and ready for transport."

  "Good. When we descend into the city, we'll need to make sure that no one makes a sound."

  "Yes, my lord king. I will inform the men."

  When Mar raised ship, Yhejia went to check on her supernumeraries but Telriy stayed and watched as Khalar grew near.

  "I was more impressed the first time I saw it," she commented, looking down over the rail as they crossed the river. Her voice was barely audible. "I'd seen Mhajhkaei and some of the larger cities on the coast, but somehow Khalar seemed to have a special splendor. At least the Old City did. Perhaps because I had spent so much time traveling to see it."

  Mar made a sound between a grunt and a laugh. "What do you think of it now?"

  "It just looks crowded and dirty. And small."

  Mar smiled. "That's how it always looked to me."

  Accomplished without incident, the return trip was comfortingly boring. Mar kept the skyship at the highest altitude he dared and only dropped down when he reached the open area before the warehouse. He kept looking around, both with his eyes and his magical senses, to make sure that no one was watching while Ulor and the others eased the doors open as quietly as possible, then floated Number One inside and lowered it onto the prepared cradles. When the doors closed, he relaxed.

  "Orders, sir?" Eishtren asked.

  "I'd like an inside watch night and day around the skyship, Quaestor. We've got ladders in place to access the roof and I want at least two men up there as well. They need to keep an eye on the alley at the rear and the street and the plaza in front. The Viceroy's Guard has a bad habit of breaking down doors on a whim, and I don't want us to be surprised."

  "Yes, sir."

  As Eishtren and his men began to move down to the lower deck to exit the ship, Telriy came up and looped her arm with his. "I'm going to bed. What about you?"

  "Well, I was going to do some more informal requisitioning, but now that I think of it, I could use a nap myself." He grinned.

  "Oh, you could, could you? Well, we'll see. When's the last time you had a bath?"

  THIRTY-NINE

  The 1644th year of the Glorious Empire of the North

  Khalar

  "I'm sure it's him!" Szep swore. "Mar, the street thief. No doubt about it. He was walking right down the Emperor's Highway bold as anything, wearing fancy clothes and acting like he's somebody. I've known him since ten years. Now, where's my money?"

  Fugleman Meztohaep wrinkled his nose in disgust. Both the alley and Szep stank. He shook his head at the half-starved beggar. "Now, son, you know that isn't how it works. The Viceroy's Personal Guard doesn't hand over a one hundred silver reward -- two full gold -- on a gutter rat's say so. We'll arrest him, take him before a magistrate and then you identify him. After we're convinced that we've got the right one, you'll get your money. Now, tell me exactly where he is."

  FORTY

  3197 Before the Founding of the Empire

  Cursing, Rhynn rolled over, snatched up the shrilling alarm clock, and hurled it against the wall.

  “I’m just doing my job!” the clock complained bitterly. It picked itself up and somewhat disgustedly dusted off its brass skirts. “I can’t help it if you’re a slugabed!”

  Not actually sentient, the clock had come equipped with a quite sophisticated algorithm that included "Lifelike Banter and Mannerisms!" Like any fad, it had seemed cute when Rhynn bought it. While the offended appliance, still grumbling, limped across the room and began the arduous climb back to its place on the nightstand, Rhynn snuggled closer to his wife.

  “Remind me never to buy an animated clock again,” he murmured as he nuzzled her ear.

  “I tried to tell you,” Eilia reminded sleepily. “My dad always said that there were certain things that magic was not intended to meddle with.”

  Rhynn slid his hand around her waist and moved closer, letting his touch turn into caresses. His wife had altered her sleep schedule to match his, and it was at times like these that he especially appreciated her sacrifice.

  Pherarl stirred in his crib and made a few complaining noises of his own.

  “Bring me the baby, dear, before he starts crying.”

  Sighing for the missed opportunity of conjugal bliss before he must head off to work, Rhynn rolled out of the bed and fetched his son to Eilia. Opening her gown, she began to nurse.

  "Don't be late in the mo
rning, dear. Mother is coming over to eat breakfast with us."

  Walking toward the bathroom, Rhynn asked, "Is her latest boyfriend, what's his name, coming?"

  "Of course."

  "So which one is it?"

  "Which one is what, dear?"

  "Which boyfriend?"

  "Oh, I have no idea. Not the same one as last time, I'm sure."

  Rhynn laughed and entered the shower stall. He curled a finger to initiate its magic, and then instructed it, "Shave, trim hair, trim nails, no shampoo, hot water, light scent, hot air dry, double fast."

  "Initiating spells," the shower replied. This was just recorded vocal feedback. Thankfully, the shower had no simulated personality.

  In five minutes, he was done: clean, shorn, and regulation fit for duty. He summoned a clean uniform, dressed efficiently, and walked out of the bathroom to get his boots. Once he had them on, he took some polish and a stained rag from a drawer in his desk, propped up his right foot on the corner of same, and started to touch up the shine.

  Eilia, still sitting in the middle of their large bed, had the baby on her shoulder to burp. "I wish you'd let me throw those out. Everyone in the service wears the Evershines. I'm surprised they let you still wear those old things."

  "As long as the regulations permit heirloom military gear," he told the love of his life, grinning, "I'll keep wearing them." The boots had belonged to his great-grandfather, who had actually ridden a horse into battle while wearing them.

  "You can get the Evershines with Climate Control, Ballistic Protection, Mobility Assistance, Buoyancy, or any of a dozen other spells," Eilia suggested. "Custom programming is no extra charge."

  Rhynn grinned again, but shook his head. Satisfied that his boots were up to standards, he stored the polish and rag and put his military issue combo unit on his wrist, cycling the program to test the comm and port functions.

  "I suppose I'll have to take back the pair I bought for your birthday?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Well, it was worth a try. That means that I'll just have to take the money and buy the baby something instead."

  "I think that would be great."

  "What would you like for your birthday, then?"

  He gave her a suggestive look. "Well..."

  She rolled her eyes. "In addition to that."

  "I thought that maybe we could spend part of my leave with my father up on his place."

  "It's so primitive there. You know I hate 'roughing' it."

  "It would only be for a couple of days. After that we could go to a beach resort."

  "Alright, but you remember to bring the portable processor this time. Doing without magic altogether is just inhuman."

  Laughing, Rhynn kissed his wife and son. "Time for me to go."

  He tapped his wrist unit and ported to the Bastion. The local wards of the fortress were keyed to permit him to port passed its centuries' old outer walls, but the Command Bunker's wards would deflect all incoming ports and standard security protocols required each watch stander to check in through the guard post at the top of the jump shaft. Appearing at the port target at one side of the parade ground just as the sun sank behind the upper walkways of the western wall, Rhynn fell in at the tail end of the queue working its way by the guard shack.

  Vice-Commander Karhle happened to be ahead of him. The officer glanced back, then turned, and Rhynn threw a smart salute which the officer returned casually.

  "I thought you were due leave, Comm Spec?" Karhle asked.

  "Yes, sir," Rhynn confirmed. He liked Karhle. The man was a good officer, meaning he did not explode over minor infractions of the regulations. "Ten days, but it starts at the end of my shift."

  "Oh. I hate to tell you, but I've had indications that all leaves may cancelled. Intel thinks that the Republic might violate the Armistice along the border with Brhyllmachor. If they do, our treaties will drag us into it."

  Rhynn's face fell. "I've not had a leave in over a year, sir."

  "Well, there's nothing official yet and I don't expect the orders to come down for a few days. You're not staying in the City, are you?"

  "No, sir. I'm taking the family up to my father's cabin in the Byaetrol Hills."

  "That's right. Your father is a Simple Lifer, isn't he?"

  "Yes, sir. He has a farm and livestock and the whole deal. He built his cabin by hand, if you can believe it."

  Karhle nodded. "You know, it occurs to me that if you're away from a comm, that you can't get the recall order until you get back."

  "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

  "Just make sure you get back in ten days. I've a feeling that things are going to get hot."

  "No doubt about it, sir. I mean, about me getting back, sir."

  The Vice-Commander laughed, then turned about when the queue moved forward. After a few more minutes, Rhynn reached the small booth and presented his identity card through the counter window. Including the sergeant in the booth, there were six guards. Four stood ready to either side of the opening in the personnel exclusion ward, while the fifth manned an anti-vehicle gun in a poured blast material revetment. All were extended life veterans, and the static of their incidental magics spread a grinding static through the ether that made Rhynn wince slightly in pain. Most of the veterans that he had encountered gave off the static; it had to do with constantly being bombarded with overcharged flux.

  The sergeant scrutinized the picture on Rhynn's card, examined his face for several moments (even though he had seen Rhynn every day for the previous six months) then passed the card under a scanner. When no alarms went off, he directed Rhynn to place both hands on the turquoise skry pylon mounted immediately next to the booth. Reputedly -- the exact nature of their magics was a military secret -- the pylons ran more than two dozen identity tests, everything from biological signatures to physiological measurements to ethereal harmonizations.

  Some, even a few officers, grumbled about the length of the Command Bunker entrance procedures, but Rhynn never had. He thought it unlikely that an enemy agent could subvert the Bastion's standard security magics to penetrate this far, but you never could be too sure. The Command Bunker was the center of the City's strategic defense and he did not begrudge any measure that would keep it safe and secure.

  When Rhynn was not immediately incapacitated by automated spells, the sergeant waved him through and he walked forward to step off into the jump shaft. His sedate entrance into the dampening fields made his descent also sedate. The magics would adjust to an object's initial velocity. If one was in a hurry, fleeing aerial attack for instance, the proscribed method was to leap in feet first to achieve the maximum safe rate of descent. Some of his buddies claimed that a faster speed could be obtained by diving in head first, but he had never been tempted to try it.

  The bunker was thirteen storeys down, and it took almost a full minute to reach the bottom of the shaft. Once his boots touched, he bounced out before the magics could send him back to the surface. That had happened on the first day of his posting to the Bunker and he had no desire to make that newbie mistake again. It had taken almost a month for him to live the first one down.

  Rhynn walked quickly through the blast doors into the large circular room of Central Command and reported to Vice-Commander Karhle to be logged in, then took the steps down the terraces to his station. Two other Comm Specs were at work on his tier, Mythideiy and Jherri, and both were scheduled to go off duty five minutes after he arrived. Rhynn nodded at them as he took his seat, but neither made any move to unplug. Both had tense expressions and looked completely involved in monitoring their respective nets. Curious, he put on his headset and keyed his console into life.

  Immediately, he understood their concern. His assigned comm nets were the Flyer bands, and it seemed as if every alert squadron had been activated. Within minutes, he heard a general order go out to ready all reserve squadrons. Someone in the command hierarchy was getting nervous. Wanting to find out if something unusual was indeed going o
n, he slipped one earpiece off and twisted around in his chair to look toward Vice-Commander Karhle at Cent Com.

  His mouth dropped open when Knight-Commander nhBreen, wearing not a stitch, charged into the room.

  “Bulletin to all stations!” nhBreen barked. “Evacuate the city!”

  Rhynn froze in shock as Vice-Commander Karhle fired off orders to initiate Defense Priority One programming. His own console danced with light as it broadcast recorded messages. When the massive blast doors behind nhBreen closed with a resounding crack, Rhynn's hands started shaking. The same sound echoed distantly as other armored doors throughout the underground complex sealed themselves.

  “All Bastion personnel to attack shelters!" nhBreen ordered. "Abandon all perimeter defense posts!”

  Responding, Rhynn keyed the commands into his own nets. Very afraid, he continued to listen both to the men behind him and to the uproar that flooded his comm, but when he heard the Knight-Commander utter the words, "Collapse the Wards," he stopped paying attention to his headset altogether.

  “Chief Warder Dhavif, collapse the Wards to the outer wall--”

  “No, “ nhBreen interrupted. “Collapse the Wards to the Bastion!”

  Vice-Commander Karhle's voice came out strangled. “Sir...?”

  “This is the end, Karhle,” nhBreen pronounced, sounding to Rhynn's ears like death incarnate. “We cannot save the city. The Wards will fail catastrophically if we try to defend it. I have foreseen it. We may save the Bastion, but the City is doomed.”

  Horrified, Rhynn neglected his console completely and turned around.

  nhBreen had moved down to face Chief Warder Dhavif. “Chief Warder, collapse the wards to the Bastion, no interstitial.”