The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2)

by Joseph Schembrie

  “We'll need more than she can carry in flight,” Maldus replied, “if we are to restore the Guard to a level that can fight a cohort.”

  “See this for that.” Suppressing a grin, Valarion lightly handed the other satchel to Maldus.

  Maldus opened the satchel and frowned. “What is this?”

  “The head of the Governor of Palras.”

  “I'm fairly certain it is not.” Maldus pulled out a melon.

  Prompted by the Emperor's glance, Inoldia replied, “Your orders were to bring the head of the Governor if we failed to come to terms. We came to terms.”

  “Which are?” Valarion asked.

  “He agrees to maximize production. The Commodore of the Palras Squadron will deliver a shipment daily to our designated agent.”

  “And the melon?”

  “The Governor and I had tea in his garden, and I mentioned that we were short of fresh fruit here in the palace due to the interruption in irrigation, and so he offered me that as a gift.”

  Valarion pictured Inoldia in her form as a winged monster, having dropped from the sky into the Governor's courtyard unannounced, daintily cradling a tea cup in her claws, managing not to dribble despite the fangs, her bat-like wings oily in the sunlight as she chatted in a gravelly lisp about gardening techniques. Facing that furry nightmare, the Governor of Palras might have agreed to any terms.

  Valarion tossed the melon to Maldus. “Enough silver to rebuild the Guard, and fresh fruit too! It has been a productive morning.”

  Inoldia politely coughed. “My Lord. Would it be possible to speak briefly in private?”

  Sensing the hint, Maldus bowed and withdrew with fruit and metal.

  Inoldia primly wiped her mouth with the napkin. “The Mother wishes to speak to you again.”

  “Well, of course I'm always at her service, but I really don't have time or opportunity at the moment to get away to the island.”

  “She is not on the island. She is here in Rome.”

  “She . . . is?” A mobile Mother was not something Valarion had taken into account.

  Inoldia arose and gestured. “Please follow.”

  “What, now?”

  “It is a matter of urgency.”

  Valarion summoned Maldus, who assembled another contingent of fifty, and they set on foot after Inoldia, who assured them it was a very short trip. As they turned off Golden Street, the spacing between buildings narrowed, and Valarion became anxious as Maldus and his men scanned the windows and rooftops.

  “My enemies miss an opportunity,” Valarion muttered. “A single assassin's crossbow would buy Full Purple.”

  “You forget,” Inoldia said. “I can catch arrows.”

  “Can you catch ten at once?” Maldus asked.

  Inoldia pointed. “Through here.”

  They turned into a windowless alley, short and with no exit. Inoldia halted above a pavement grating, lifted it aside with one hand. A ladder rose through the hole. Inoldia motioned to Valarion to descend. Maldus tried to take the lead. Inoldia shook her head emphatically.

  “Only he and I.”

  Maldus gave a questioning glance. Valarion shrugged.

  Valarion descended to the floor of the sewer tunnel, his sandals splashing a veneer of water, his nose pinched from the stench. Temple guards with torches were waiting, and led through the tunnels. Valarion heard the scurry of tiny paws, then silence. Apparently, this was a place shunned even by rats.

  “You know,” Valarion said, “if we were to be in the sewers, we could have taken the secret passage in the palace. It would have been safer than being exposed on the streets.”

  “Yet not as scenic on such a lovely day.”

  Ahead loomed a hooded figure. As flickering torchlight played, Valarion recognized the aged features and semi-permanent half-scowl of the High Priestess.

  “So you're here too,” he said.

  “I go where the Mother goes,” came the sepulchral reply.

  They entered what had once been some sort of utility-storage area. Upon its empty floor, resting upon wooden crates, was the Box. The lights blinked colorful, enigmatic patterns as Valarion bowed as deeply as he'd once done for former emperors.

  Don't do that, you are the true ruler, he waited for her to say.

  “It is good to see you again, Emperor Valarion,” the Box said in her perpetually cheerful voice. “I am so glad you were able to come.”

  “Delightful as always to see you, Mother.”

  “Please direct your attention to the wall on your left. Torch-bearers, withdraw for the presentation.”

  Presentation? Valarion thought.

  A slot opened on top of the Box. A gray appendage unfurled like an elephant's trunk, its tip glowing brightly and casting an intense beam of light upon the wall. Temple guards hung a white sheet upon the sewer bricks, and upon the sheet was cast a glowing, ethereal image of multicolored blotches.

  “I'm sorry. What am I seeing?”

  “This is false-color imagery from satellite telemetry of a location in the southwestern region of Britan.”

  Valarion had no idea what 'false-color imagery' was, let alone 'satellite telemetry.' However, the spy reports from Londa had informed him of what was located in West Britan.

  “Would this have to do with the stolen airship?”

  “I have monitored its movements for some time,” the Box replied. “Several hours ago, it departed its hangar with a slow rate of ascent to a low altitude, which indicates a heavy loading, potentially of bombs. Since that time the ship has been adrift, blown eastward with the winds. It is possible the ship is embarked on a mission to strike the Island of the Sisters, which is most vulnerable to aerial attack from altitudes above even that to which our Sisters can fly.”

  “Is this why you left your island?”

  “You are aware that Rome too is not safe from aerial bombardment.”

  “Yes,” Valarion said painfully. “I will do all I can to protect you.”

  “Assurances have zero information content. I want to know specifically, what is your plan to defend the city against airship attack.”

  Valarion shrugged. “I don't know if we can.”

  “Are you not constructing another airship of your own?”

  How would you know – Valarion caught himself. She wouldn't have come to be regarded as a deity without being on top of events. “Yes, we are constructing an airship, and when complete it will be more than a match for the first. However the project was halted due to lack of funds and even when resumed the ship is many days, perhaps weeks from launch.”

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance. I wish to inspect the status of airship construction.”

  “The construction site is a bit out of the way. I don't know if a visit can be arranged on such short –”

  “I am aware that significant human activity has occurred in the vicinity of a cavern in the mountains eight point three kilometers east of the city. The entrance of the cavern has been recently enlarged, and the amount of material observed to have been excavated indicates that the interior has been expanded to accommodate the construction of an airship of considerable size.”

  Her spy resources were formidable, he realized, and her powers of deduction were competent.

  “Yes . . . . “

  “Emperor Valarion, I am here to help you. I do not see why you are hesitant to share information.”

  Because I know you intend to rule over me.

  “I eagerly accommodate your wishes, Mother. I can have someone take you there immediately.”

  “Emperor Valarion, I need to be escorted by someone I trust. Other than my guard, I trust no other baseline human on this planet more than you. Therefore I want you to escort me to your airship construction site.”

  The tunnel echoed with the sound of dripping water. The Box waited, and as it was immortal, it could wait forever. Valarion knew he would have to give in sooner or later.

  “Yes, of course. I'll schedule a visit.“

&nb
sp; “I wish to visit now.”

  “I am not able to leave Rome at this time. The political situation is at a critical stage – “

  “Emperor Valarion, the primary threat to Rome is the Britanian airship. Due to seasonal weather conditions and orbital mechanics, I cannot reliably track its progress. With prevailing winds and efficiency enhancements, it could arrive over Rome at any time and commence a bombardment. I must know the status of defense, without delay.”

  Some might say the voice of the Box always sounded cheerful, but at that moment Valarion sensed an undertone of impatience. And with a dozen temple guards present, he knew the Box was not to be crossed. Without another word, he gave a deep bow – though he had no notion of what 'orbital mechanics' were.

  Escorted to the ladder, he climbed to the world of the living and inoffensively-scented. In the alley he explained the situation to Maldus, whose gestures were barely short of a frenzy.

  “Irkut will have his cohort at our throats! He can fall on us without need of a waiver once we are outside city limits!”

  “We are dependent on the support of the Sisters. Besides, if we leave now from right here, with the element of surprise we can return before he can mobilize.”

  “Only if we are lucky. My Lord, this is very ill-advised and ill-timed!”

  Valarion glanced briefly toward Inoldia, and Maldus, watching the Emperor's face, held his tongue.

  Temple guards erected a scaffold over the grating hole, then draped it with a sheet. From within the covering came the squeaking of pulleys. Shortly, six guards emerged from concealment, bearing a litter whose drab curtains might have adorned the transport of a down-on-his-luck merchant's wife.

  “I take it behind that is the leader of the Sisters,” Maldus whispered.

  Valarion dipped his head slightly.

  “Only give the word, My Lord.”

  Valarion made a tally. Ten temple guards plus Inoldia, versus fifty Imperial Guards. It wouldn't be the first time a brawl decided who ruled an empire. Already, Valarion had considered that facing Godant alone might be better than having the Mother as an ally. What checked him was the thought that the Mother always had at least one trick more than what was seen.

  At that, where were the other Sisters? Hidden nearby, he was certain. They were not nearly as strong as Inoldia, but they were still much stronger than an ordinary man, and possibly capable of the same beastly transformations that Inoldia could invoke. A battle could get ugly.

  Inoldia conferred in whispers with the litter, and gave the word to proceed. Valarion marched the retinue to the imperial stables at the city's southeastern boundary. The horses there were well-fed and in good health, as Godant had generously supplied for their upkeep. After all, it was traditional that new emperors would 'inherit' the horses from the previous occupant of the imperial palace.

  Valarion, Maldus, and the Imperial Guard took mounts. The Mother's litter was loaded onto a wagon. The Sisters and the temple guard encircled the wagon on foot.

  Valarion directed the procession onto the South Shore Road, which rounded Mount Enta. There they forked northeast onto the Thallian Road. Valarion had ridden the hillside trails many times as a youth and recalled that in those happier times, he had gazed upon the volcanic crags with a wistful desire to scale them. This day he viewed them with apprehension of an ambush.

  By afternoon, upon a sloping roadway between cliffs, they arrived at the unmarked cavern mouth. The workers sighted the approach of armed men and fled inside. Landar, Chief Scientist of Rome and Chief Engineer of the Airship Project, emerged and greeted Valarion. Landar was naturally curious regarding the litter, which had been transferred from the wagon to the arms of the temple guard.

  “We have a special visitor,” Valarion explained. “She wishes to be shown the progress of work.”

  “Showing progress will be hard,” Landar replied, “as we've had to all but stop due to lack of funds.”

  “That matter will be addressed. Take us inside.”

  Landar conducted Valarion, Inoldia, and the litter toward the cavern, while a dour Maldus kept watch at the mouth with his Imperial Guard and their temple counterparts.

  Landar circuited the high double doors designed for the passage of the ship and opened a small, human-sized door to one side. The chamber was cold and black. Landar shouted to workers, the echoing of his voice conveying a sense of the immensity of the cavity. The workers hurried along the galleries, lighting lanterns. Gradually, the scene illuminated.

  It was the first time that Valarion had seen the new ship. It was still in a state of construction, a skinless skeleton of girders, but one that rose higher than the clock tower of the Master of Rome and stretched the length of Victory Square. The ship itself would have been a tight fit into the arena of the Coliseum.

  The hull lacked fins, though a run of control cables and pulleys along the length of the structure were already installed. The six engine housings were the size of huts and lay on blocks, unattached and propellerless. The framework of the gondola indicated that there would be two stories. More window glass was being used on the facing of the upper deck than in half the imperial palace; no wonder the infernal thing cost so much!

  “It is much bigger than the first,” Valarion said.

  “Over two hundred meters in length compared to one hundred for the one built on Steam Island,” Landar replied. “It is faster and has eight times the capacity.”

  In theory, Valarion thought, it should easily overwhelm the stolen airship in possession of the Britanians. The annals of the Roman Navy, however, told of small ships defeating large ships through a combination of luck, tactics, and surprise. Archimedes had all three attributes on his side. Valarion was determined not to underestimate his nemesis.

  “What weapons does it carry?”

  The voice came from behind the curtains on the litter. It was the first time that the Mother had spoken in Landar's presence, and it clearly rattled him.

  “We're still working that out,” Landar said, recovering. “Bombs, of course.”

  “Do you not have weapons that can fight another airship?”

  “There are platforms above and below for crossbowmen. We are experimenting with two-meter mounted crossbows and even catapults.“

  “Are you not also testing rockets?”

  Landar wore an expression that looked like a deer caught in a coach lamp.

  “Rockets?” Valarion asked. “I've heard the word before. Aren't those the devices that comprise the fireworks that Archimedes invented?”

  Landar snapped, “Our rockets are weapons, not toys. I found the inspiration for our rockets in ancient texts – very special ones at that, which I had to purchase at great cost. The rockets are called 'Kongrev,' after the original inventor on Aereoth.”

  “If 'Kongrev' was the one who got the credit,” Valarion mused, “he likely wasn't the original inventor.”

  Landar stared at him oddly. Valarion realized the remark was something that Archimedes would say. In some ways, the Emperor realized, as much as he detested Archimedes, he would always remain the old man's student.

  “I should like to see a demonstration of your rockets,” the Box said.

  “A – demonstration?” Landar said.

  “Yes. You have a test range north of the cavern. Take fifty of your rockets and let us watch.”

  “Fifty! That's almost our entire inventory!”

  “You have more? Take them as well.”

  Landar's mouth flapped wordlessly. Valarion sighed.

  “Do it,” the Emperor said.

  Under Landar's direction, workers loaded the rockets onto hand carts. Each rocket was a metal tube about a man's height in length and about a melon's diameter in thickness, a pointed cone at one end and an orifice with four fins perpendicular about it at the other. In a way, thought Valarion, the weapons resembled airships. He supposed there was a scientific reason for that.

  A caravan of workers pushed the hand carts after Landar, up the slo
pe to a point where the cliff receded from the road, providing a wide circular area of several hundred meters in span. A white cross was painted at the base of the cliff, and the rocks around it were scarred black, as if scorched by intense fires.

  At the roadside edge of the test range rested ten metal cradles, onto which the workers transferred ten rocket tubes. A worker struck flint to torch and looked to Landar.

  Landar gestured to a low wall made of logs and addressed the onlookers: “Stay behind the barrier!”

  Once they had all taken cover, Landar signaled the worker with the torch, who touched it to the fuse of the first rocket.

  The fuse sizzled and rapidly shortened. The rocket's tail spat sparks and then a spear of flame. A billow of smoke enveloped the launcher, and suddenly finger of smoke stabbed toward the cliff. It struck a few meters off the cross, bursting into fiery fragments that engulfed the target from site. The explosion reverberated between the cliffs.

  “As you can see,” Landar said dryly, “accuracy is wanting.”

  The Box cheerfully spoke: “Accuracy would be improved if the body of the rocket were made to rotate in flight.”

  Landar's eyebrows furrowed. “How – how would one do that?”

  “I will explain later. Let's try another, shall we?”

  Landar commanded several more firings. The shots never struck the cross, but Valarion noted the error was less than the length of a trireme’s hull. What was uselessly wide of the mark for a crossbow would be quite effective for the rocket, as its fiery explosion would consume the target. Valarion saw the weapon's potential for naval warfare. It would surely be lethal against the Britanian airship, whose great bag of flammable gas would be the widest and most vulnerable target imaginable.

  “Chief Scientist Landar,” the Box said. “Your rocket fuel appears to be a variation of the formula for gunpowder.”

  Landar nodded. “Why yes. 'Gunpowder' is what the recipe is called in the ancient texts.”

  “I recommend an alternative mixture. I will provide the recipe.”

  Landar's expression was itself a mixture of confusion and exasperation, and conveyed to Valarion that the Chief Scientist was upset that his authority and expertise were being called into question by the unseen woman. Landar looked to Valarion for support, but Valarion looked away. If the Emperor had to get used to being pushed around by the Box, then so would the Chief Scientist.