Mobius

by Garon Whited

  The method for building masonry domes was seen as early as the Roman period, but I don’t know it. I never thought I’d need to know the difference between a squinch and a pendentive! So I cheat.

  It’s not a vitality process, not like the mountain. This is a straight-up spell, like a hyperactive repair spell. It’s constantly trying to spread the available material out into the shape it’s programmed to “repair” the material into. I can build a converter to turn magic into vitality, but it’s a poor conversion. It wouldn’t work as quickly as the spell will. If I wanted to be flashy, I could stand in the center of the tower and raise my hands and call on the stone to flow upward into a dome, but I’d need to set up a dozen stone-shaping spells, one for each arc of the circle, and burn enough power to open a major gate. I’ll take my time and substitute some physical labor, moving stone, and let the spell incorporate it.

  This process of dome building is lengthy and finicky, but I still have stone coming down from the mountains. Eventually, I’ll have to lay out other structures around—and to be connected to—the tower, but first we need a courtyard. Then we need a courtyard wall, I think, as an outer defense. We have barbarian neighbors and they don’t look the sort to return the lawnmower. They look more the type to steal the lawnmower, break into the garage, smash the car, kick in the door to the house, have a wild party, steal anything they didn’t break, set fire to the house, and deny everything afterward.

  I kept an eye on our visitor. Not a constant watch, but enough to track his course. He didn’t go over the rise with the “natural” rock wall at the top. Instead, he followed the stream. There’s a semi-path beside it through the waterfalls, involving climbing. I suspect he comes to this valley to hunt more than he admitted. It’s a good place to find game. Once down to lower ground, he followed the stream back to his village.

  I do periodic spot-checks on them. If they start heading our way, we should have two days or thereabouts before they can be here. It’s overland travel, on foot, with no road. If they do march, I suspect they’ll take their time. They’ll know they have a narrow choke point to squeeze through and they’ll think we won’t know they’re coming. Leisel agrees, and is quite pleased to have a surprise of her own planned for them.

  For whatever reason, the local armies do not favor archery. The locals know about bows, but they use short bows for hunting and for some of their retail killing, but the bows aren’t really for war. They’ve never developed the long bow or the crossbow and they don’t have units of archers. They use bowmen as light cavalry, mostly for scouting and harassment. Leisel tells me any actual engagement usually involves massed forces marching toward each other until their lines meet. Since we’re dealing with unarmored barbarians instead of “civilized” war machines, she has everyone who doesn’t already own a bow practicing with slings. They’re cheap, quick to make, and can be quite effective. They do take a lot of room to use, though, which forces people to spread out more than I like. I’m thinking about other options.

  Another bit of good news is the iron mine. It’s starting to produce. It’s a dirty, unpleasant job, chipping away at a giant rock to get to the good stuff inside it, but it’s what you do in a mine.

  I should pay more attention to the mining village, because we really have two villages going on, here. The mining camp is nearly two miles from the tower! It says a lot of good things about Leisel that I never had to pay attention to them. They’ve built a smelter, fired charcoal, and knocked together the usual buildings to house and feed the miners. They even have a dance hall and a bar, staffed by even more immigrants.

  I wondered where all the money I give Leisel is going. Now I know.

  Across the valley, buildings are also going up at the coal minesite. I’m guessing we should have started with coal, but the lack of metal has really been hurting us. Making a trip to pick up a keg of nails, not to mention a pot, pan, or pocketknife, is tiresome. And making charcoal isn’t a fast process around here, nor is charcoal the best fuel for a smelter.

  As a stopgap, I’ve stepped in and modified some of the local technology. The trick to making charcoal is to burn off the volatile stuff in the wood without igniting the wood, itself. Heat it to release the impurities, burn off the impurities, but keep the oxygen away from the wood. This results in charcoal.

  I can do that. They have a magical charcoal-making chamber, now. Well, a higher-tech charcoal chamber, with a few magical enhancements. It’s going much faster. Plus, the smelter also has some heating upgrades—the usual stuff. A filter to increase the ratio of oxygen forced into it, a heat-reflecting spell to keep it from wastefully radiating heat, a heat-transfer spell to take heat going up the chimney and pre-heat the incoming air, all that stuff. Plus, the chimney is taller, to increase the force of the draft, and I have their smith—we have a smith! Woo-hoo!—working on a drum fan to replace the bellows.

  We had a bit of a conflict over what I wanted to do with the fan. I assumed he knew who I was and gave him orders. He didn’t take them. Told me he worked for the Captain—pretty lady, very serious, don’t mess with her. I told Leisel and she nearly died of embarrassment. After that, we had introductions. I get the impression our smith, a big block of a man named Galdor, has a hard time finding employment because of his attitude. He’s not respectful to his “betters,” as the locals might put it. Even after I drew out and explained what I wanted and why, he merely agreed to do it. He didn’t even pretend to be respectful beyond using the appropriate honorifics. I like him.

  I wonder if his attitude will change when he see how well it works.

  I also asked Leisel to task some of our less-muscled ladies to help him in the forge. While it’s true a woman is generally at a disadvantage when building muscle mass, I’d like them all to be as strong as possible. We may be facing a bunch of muscled-up barbarians in the near future and I’d rather not have one of my guardswomen swept aside because she can’t stand up to the blow. Leisel disliked the idea, at first, but eventually decided it would make a good punishment detail. I didn’t argue.

  I’m still nervous about them being in the field, but it’s my heart talking, not my head. I know they can carve through three times their weight in untrained meat, but I feel they’re ladies and shouldn’t have to. Dammit. I have to keep reminding myself. I should know better, but I work with them every morning and I’m liking them more and more.

  Osric, on the other hand, I am liking less and less. He’s taken to hanging around the mining camp instead of the village. The people around the camp are more respectful of him. I think he’s also enjoying the independent service-industry contractors—the prostitutes. Apparently, they’re considered part of the “craftsmen” caste, although pretty far down the list, bordering on “laborers.” They’re still considered skilled labor, though. I haven’t asked how the castes work out their internal pecking order and I’m not going to.

  Osric also broached the subject of going to battle with the barbarians.

  “Are we going to attack them?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “They’re a fair distance away. I’d prefer to let them come to us so we have the advantage of ground.”

  “You sound as though you are planning to go to war with them. They do not understand war.”

  “Oh?”

  “They do not maneuver until they find advantage. They are butchers.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” I admitted. “If they’re coming to kill us, surely having the home ground is an advantage.”

  “It is, but they will not bow when their defeat is clear.”

  “Clearly, I’m not understanding. Maybe you should explain like I’m new to this whole warfare business.”

  “What would you have me explain?”

  “Let’s say you were running a war. What’s the most recent war you can think of?”

  “Mmm. I would think Termalada and Kiristada, perhaps seven years ago?”

  “It’ll do. How did it go? Forget why they went to war. Once they decided
to, how did it play out?”

  Osric thought about it for a bit, trying to think of a way to explain. Eventually, we went down to the riverbank and found a smooth stretch of dirt. He drew a lot while he explained. The armies of the two cities maneuvered, marched, countermarched, and so on, each trying to gain an advantage over the other while blocking advances toward their respective home cities. The war ended when Kiristada’s diversion drew the bulk of the Termaladan forces off. The Kiristadan forces smashed through a light screen of Termaladan infantry and marched up to Termalada, investing and besieging the place. Termalada didn’t make a fight of it, either. The Mazhani of Termalada came out, ceremonially surrendered, and the war was over.

  “So, aside from the skirmishes on the way, the was no actual fighting?” I asked.

  “Of course not. In war, the objective is to achieve a strategic victory.”

  I refrained from comment. While he was technically correct, the local take on “strategic victory” was remarkably different from my definition. The locals maneuvered their armies like a chess player maneuvering pieces. Once they moved into a checkmate position, the loser surrendered. Never mind the city might be able to withstand a siege. The victor was at the gates, so a quiet capitulation was in order. They don’t think of it in the way I do: Crush the enemy, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentation of the wounded.

  I would ask if this makes me a bad person, but it’s hardly the only thing.

  “I see. And, with barbarians, there isn’t a war. There is only a battle—possibly several battles—until one side or the other is dead.”

  “Or fled,” he agreed. “You cannot expect them to comprehend civilized standards.”

  “Of course not. They’re barbarians.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, in that case, how do you feel about going into battle against barbarians?”

  “I don’t,” he sniffed. “Barbarians do not understand the rules of war.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. As a member of the First, I would captain my men on the field. I direct others to achieve a strategic victory.”

  “If one of the First has to fight, he’s done something terribly wrong, eh?”

  “Terribly, yes.”

  “Thank you, Osric. You’ve really helped a lot.”

  “It is my pleasure.”

  Sadly, I think that’s the most work I’ve gotten out of him. If and when we have a war, maybe he’ll turn out to be an excellent strategist. I’m not counting on it, but it’s worth a shot.

  Perhaps more valuable is the influx of warriors arriving today. We also gained a couple more families of farmers and some craftsmen, but eight warriors—mostly men—rode into the village to ask about employment. Leisel took care of them, made sure they were fed and housed, and had someone give them the tour. If Leisel likes them, I’ll hire them and she’ll put them to work.

  We’re getting to the point we need more… how to put this? We need fewer warriors and more workers. I’m going to have to send people out to try and woo more people to our village. We have a lot of civilians, but we’re still mostly a military base at this point.

  This afternoon, one of the ladies jogged up to me while I was hip-deep in the stream. As usual, my hard armor was bundled up on Bronze, mostly because it looks silly to be digging, chopping, or hauling in it. In this case, I was digging out rocks to finish the millway. The millway is already having some effect, but I want it built high enough so we don’t get overflow and waste water power.

  “What’s up?”

  “Leisel wants you.”

  “Where?”

  “Tower.”

  “Take a minute, catch your breath. Is it an emergency?”

  “No.”

  I turned to the ladies helping me with my millway project. They agreed they could do without me. I ducked under the water to rinse off, climbed out with a hand from the messenger—she nearly fell in; I’m heavy—and Bronze carried me off to my tower. Leisel waved from the door and disappeared inside. I dismounted and followed her.

  “Bolt the door,” she called, from upstairs. I did so and headed up the stone steps as they curved along the inside wall. The ground and second floors don’t have windows, for obvious reasons, so the second floor was somewhat dim. Not as dim as I am, sometimes. Leisel met me by the head of the stairs.

  “The door is up,” she pointed out, “and you have a bed. Do you have more excuses?”

  “No, but I have a question.”

  “Ask.”

  “You’re a grown woman and you’ve proven you can make responsible decisions. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “What, exactly, do you want?”

  “We can discuss long-term plans some other time. I have more immediate plans and they require your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Well, not necessarily yours. I’d prefer for you to be the one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A woman has needs, too.”

  “How do you mean?”

  She didn’t explain. Instead, she kissed me, hard, pinning me back against the wall.

  On second thought, maybe she did explain, sort of.

  Later, we lay in the bed and rested.

  “Thank you,” Leisel told me. “I’ve needed that.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. “I’m honored to be chosen.” She chuckled.

  “Don’t mistake me. If you’re willing, I’m willing. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

  “I try not to assume.”

  “I know. I was a little worried about what you’d think.”

  “Not so worried as to ask me first?”

  “I’ve never had a man say no,” she told me. “My worry was about you making assumptions.”

  “Like what?”

  “That this was a standing invitation. I decide—you don’t order.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I admitted. I considered what this would mean for me. If she wanted me at night, this could be problematic. Afternoons? Mornings? During a long lunch? Fine. This could be tricky.

  “So, hungry?” she pressed.

  “We missed dinner,” I cautioned. Leisel stretched and rolled over to nestle closer to me. The thin chain she still wore around her waist made a metallic sound as she turned.

  “We should probably get out of bed,” she suggested. “Unless you want to order food brought to us?”

  “What am I, a despot? We eat at the table with everyone else. But I do have a question.”

  “I’m feeling expansive. What do you want to know?”

  “What’s with the chain?” I asked, hooking it with a finger where it circled her narrow waist.

  “This? It’s a charm.”

  “I could tell it was magical, but I haven’t seen the spell before.”

  “It keeps me from getting pregnant. I know what I like and I like it pretty often. They’re expensive, but I damn sure wasn’t doing without.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I was wondering how to bring up the subject of the possible consequences.”

  “I’d rather bring up something else, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  Her reply was not verbal, but it left no doubt about what she meant.

  I did a quick run-through on possible replies. With the sun going down, my biology was about to become mere anatomy, which brought up other questions. Leisel knows I’m a wizard and a warrior—two castes, not just one. I’d like to think it’s not an open secret, but a lot of suspicious things are happening around the valley. Most of them can be attributed to magical devices, I hope. But Leisel doesn’t know I’m an actual monster. I can probably keep my vampiric nature a secret from everyone else, but if Leisel is going to expect further intimacies, it’s going to be hard to explain why I’m—shall we say, “unavailable?”—after sunset.

  Is it worth the risk of telling her? I do need a comfortable base of operations if I’m
going to get any real work done on analyzing alternate timelines. How much have I invested here? If she goes a little nuts and I have to uproot and vanish, how much of a hardship is it? On the other hand, if I have a fully-aware accomplice, things will go much more smoothly. She’s a complication, but maybe a useful one. She does seem to like me, and I like her.

  I guess it all comes down to whether or not you trust someone.

  Well, maybe statistics, too. If I fail my Charisma check here, I can start over elsewhere and roll another check. Eventually, I’ll make it.

  “Speaking of bringing things up…”

  “Already there.”

  “Not that, although we’ll get back to it. There are things you should probably know about me.”

  “I know most of what I want to know,” she countered. “You mean what you say, you value your word, you treat your mazaki with respect—” The word, mazaki, literally translated meant “lesser ones.” Rather than a slur based on social standing, it simply indicated anyone I actually employed. “—you’re rich and powerful and don’t seem to have the ego that usually goes with that. You’re also refreshingly direct. You head straight for what you want and cut you-shaped holes through anything in the way. I like you.”

  “I like you, too, but there’s more to me than that.”

  “Oh, I noticed.”

  “Let go of that and listen.”

  Leisel abandoned what she was working on, propped her head up on one hand, and looked down at me.

  “You sound serious.”

  “This could affect your long-term plans.”