Kane was a little surprised that Master Cypher hadn’t yet taken Jonas away, for he was nearly positive Jonas was one of the Three Roses the sorcerer was looking for. Either he was wrong about Jonas, or Cypher, in no rush to leave, had agreed to work on the secret project and planned to take Jonas later. He probably had no way of knowing until Cypher showed his hand.
Upon returning to the Mage Corps and delivering the water, he was confronted by Master Maclean who took him into a tent. “I had someone follow you to see where you’d go,” Maclean said. “Just who were you looking for in the maids’ camp?”
Kane mentally chided himself for not seeing how his little trip could be suspect. “I’m not a spy, I was only looking for Master Cypher. I haven’t seen him in the past two days, and I thought he, um … might be talking to a girl.”
Maclean raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of this strange excuse. “He’s still in camp, if you’d like to know. He told me of your meeting with him …”
It took Kane nearly everything he had to stay silent and not appear defensive.
“He said you asked him to stay for the war effort even though I told you not to. But there’s no harm done. Go and wait your turn out there. If you get bored, learn to deal with it.” As Kane made to leave, Maclean added, “And don’t dilly-dally around the maids anymore. You know the rules about them. You want to be gelded?”
“No, master, absolutely not. I’ll keep my distance.” He exited the tent and huffed in annoyance at being labeled as a possible spy. His activities, no matter how trivial, will probably be carefully analyzed from now on, and he might face another round of questioning someday. No doubt he’ll soon be the talk of the Mage Corps.
He was relieved, though, that Cypher hadn’t ratted him out. At least, that was the appearance so far. There was always the chance Maclean was being deceitful, purposefully leaving out everything Cypher had told him. But Kane didn’t think that was the case: If Maclean learned that King Hugo himself had sentenced Kane to death, he probably wouldn’t stand to let Kane run free for another second.
He snoozed in some shade until two hours before the sun hit its zenith, when it was finally his turn to practice. His wooden figure seemed to have taken a beating by its previous students, and even though the thing was hardly alive, Kane strived to be gentler with it. He took out his wand and spoke the chant that connected his will to the figure, giving him the strange sensation that he was sticking his head into a box. With that done, he turned a small portion of the figure’s potential energy into kinetic energy so it could act on its own. It was a tricky process because if too much energy was converted, the figure could overact and explode (a common mistake in the school of alchemy).
Next, he had to give the figure instructions, which was also a trickier process than it seemed. It wasn’t enough just to tell the figure to “jump”; he would have to tell it to bend its knees then suddenly straighten them while also swiveling its feet. “Picking up a stone” involved telling the figure to spot a stone of suitable size, walk over to it, bend at the waist, and press its stubby hands on both sides of the stone before standing straight up again. It was more tedious than telling a toddler how to do something; at least a toddler knew how to pick up a stone on his own.
Kane wondered what action his automaton should do first. His instructor told him to start with something basic, but maybe he should try something creative. Perhaps in honor of Master Maclean, he should make it deliver a message to the Lonsarans upriver, as any good spy would. He settled for telling it to walk to a bush and pick off a leaf, feeling as if a third hand was writing something in a book he could barely see. He made his instructions be as meticulous as he could get them, so his automaton wouldn’t do something dumb like jump into the river or dig a hole to the center of the Earth.
Once he was finished, the automaton headed to the bush as expected, but instead of picking a leaf, it grabbed hold of a branch and tugged on it with all its might. The branch was sturdy and unyielding, so the automaton merely repeated the same motion over and over. Kane tried to erase the instructions from the imaginary book, but he had trouble doing it for some reason. His instructor stepped in and erased the instructions himself, then told Kane that reprogramming an automaton required more concentration than usual while it was active.
He tried again, this time making his automaton do a simple jumping routine. But he had converted too much of its potential energy, and the automaton’s torso propelled straight up to the sky while its legs remained grounded. The stunt impressed many onlookers, but his instructor was less than thrilled. After the legs were glued back on with a temporary adhesive spell, Kane made two more attempts at having the figure do simple tasks, only to fail each time.
His instructor relieved him of further lessons that day, and he advised Kane to clear his mind next time. Kane’s problem was a lack of focus, he said, which didn’t surprise him one bit. Worries about Master Cypher and Maclean weighed heavy in his thoughts, and on top of that, there was another battle coming very soon. Despite the soldier’s pride he had shown Cypher, his last near-death experience had shaken him to the core, and he didn’t want to rush into another one. He couldn’t seem to keep a clear mind for anything, let alone a difficult spell.
That evening, before the mages went to sleep, the commanders said they had one more day of practice before they would march to the enemy’s dam. As they went into their sleeping bags, the mages expressed relief that their waiting would soon be over, but there was also concern that everyone was not fully prepared. The practice in making automatons the commanders suddenly sprang on them had to do something with the secret project, and the training’s mixed results left a lot of people skittish. The project, whatever it was, would be very important, and the mages felt they needed a few more days to guarantee it would work.
“Maybe they have hundreds more of those dolls,” one man said. “They want to make a small army as a diversion.”
“I’m guessing they’re not shaped like people but like birds,” said another. “We’ll have to put flying spells on them, which will be utter hell, and they’ll have fire stones on them so they’ll explode when they fly into the dam.”
“But what’s the point of that when we can just hurl fireballs at it?”
“Fireballs lose consistency the longer they’re airborne. That’s not an issue with flying automatons.”
This and a few other theories floated around the barracks, and as Kane drifted to sleep, he suspected they held only kernels of truth. The secret project might be bigger than anyone anticipated, involving more than just little mobile figures.
His sleep was plagued with dreams that reminded him of his failures, born of fears that he would prove inadequate for the challenges ahead. He envisioned the automaton whose torso flew into the air, and he laughed for it had been funny. But when he looked back down, there was his father, Lord Callahan Bailey, scowling at him. Callahan reminded his son that he would never amount to anything, that his brother whom Kane had never met would have made his automaton do everything right, every time.
Before Kane could reply to his phantom father, he was startled awake by a loud bugle. Someone was walking around the barracks, playing the traditional melody that called for the start of battle. Everyone groaned and wiped their eyes to see a night sky filled with the first rays of dawn. They were confused by the bugle player, for they believed this day would be one for more practice, not battle.
The commanders came around and barked orders while clapping their hands. “Come on, people, hustle-hustle-hustle!” Master Maclean bellowed. “The entire host will be on the move, so we have to keep up! Today we march on the Lonsarans! Move it!”
“But you said we have one more day until that!” cried a man who busily put on his undershirt.
“Plans change all the time. We don’t question them, we just obey and adapt! Now I don’t want to hear any more whining!”
; I doubt the plans actually changed, Kane thought as he slipped on his black leather tunic. They intentionally misled us because they still think there’s a spy. For all I know, they’re probably right. The two kingdoms were allies before the war; I’m sure many of us are sympathetic to the other side.
Once the mages got clothed and took their staves, potion vials and rations, they got into formation in front of the commanders’ tent. The rumble of hundreds of booted feet filled the air, with the occasional shouts of anger and dissent.
“You hear that?” Master Maclean cried. “They’re all headed west, but we’re going north. We need to hurry to get out of their way, so stay with your partner and keep up with the rest of us. Follow me!”
He wasn’t kidding: About five minutes after they began running across a clear plain, they witnessed a horde of cavalry trotting into their path. Master Maclean sprinted across and angrily ordered his men to pick up the pace. Each mage ran as if the Devil was on his heels, and more than a few lost potions that weren’t tightly secured on their straps.
Five minutes later, they delved into a stretch of forest where they slowed their pace and fought through the wild undergrowth with their staves. They soon came to the Bonsar River and traveled upstream to a stone bridge where they crossed to the other side. The longer they walked, the more anxious Kane grew. He wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever role he had in the secret project, but at least he felt physically better than he had in several days. The feeling of ants on his skin had mostly subsided, and he didn’t get as winded while running as he feared he would. Still, he had yet to see what the project was exactly.
His answer lied beyond the forest. Although this part of Eaves Barony was mostly dense forestland that snaked across emerald plains, some areas had the right amount of precipitation and wind exposure to blossom into beautiful meadows, where flowers of every color spread and germinated. Master Maclean had taken the mages to one such place, where tulips, daffodils and so many others reached nearly to one’s waist.
In the middle of this meadow, accompanied by four commanders, stood four massive suits of armor. Each one was two-and-a-half meters tall, made of a dark kind of steel with a hint of brown. The plating appeared to be as thick as a finger was long, and four large runes were etched into their chest plates and kneecaps. Their helmets had cross-shaped visors that gave off angry impressions, and a pair of angular horns protruded from the temples and pointed to the sky.
A warrior would need to be unnaturally large and strong to fit inside one of these suits. But then, the suits weren’t meant to be worn—they were meant to be turned into golems. A golem was a kind of automaton that partially had a will of its own, able to act at its own discretion to achieve its goal. Programming one was much more difficult than a mere automaton, for it not only had to follow instructions, it had to judge as well … and Heaven help you if it saw or mistook you for an enemy.
Kane looked around for Master Cypher but couldn’t find him. He had a feeling Cypher had a hand in creating the suits since the smithies couldn’t have crafted them alone in just a few days. But it appeared the sorcerer hadn’t planned to oversee the fruits of his labor.
The first order of business was to label twelve people as Shieldbearers while the rest would be Golemmakers. The creation of golems was a long and arduous task, and it was standard practice to keep up a barrier during the ritual. Kane was made into a Shieldbearer, to no one’s surprise, and it didn’t leave him disappointed. Keeping up a magic barrier was tough enough as it was, but creating a golem, no matter how many others were involved, was a truly unenviable job. It required a lot of concentration with little room for error.
“Golemmakers, we don’t have much time,” Master Maclean bellowed. “You’ll have to learn the spell quickly and efficiently. There’ll be a reward for those who do it right the first time and every time. And remember, these things are meant to last us for the rest of the war, so don’t think this will be a rush job. The other soldiers are fighting out there, but we’ll take as much time as we need here.”
The Golemmakers went into four groups, each of which were given instructions by a different commander. The Shieldbearers meanwhile formed a loose circle around the scene and brushed up on how to form a barrier and maintain its strength and integrity. Kane was comfortable doing this, but as he repeatedly stole glances at the golems, he grew nervous. While they didn’t entirely appear demonic, they were imposing figures that looked as if they had stepped right from the Gates of Hell. With a few more devilish details, their design could be something the Evil Lord Malboth himself would approve of.
Get a hold of yourself. They’re here to help us win this war, and the sooner the fighting’s over, the better off we’ll be.
The thought gave him comfort at first until he realized the golems weren’t just meant to destroy but to slaughter as well. If the war was to be decided by copious bloodshed, he’d rather not be a part of it. He wished he were now negotiating for peace instead, opening a line of communication between the two monarchs alongside the Pope. That might have been possible if he was still a nobleman, but he had abandoned his noble status when he decided to flee St. Mannington.
He thought back to the time he had seen King Hugo in Master Cypher’s tower. He had wanted to talk to him then, wanted to have an open discussion about the war. But he had been too chickenshit for it, and so now here he was, about to see war golems brought to life. What a wasted opportunity!
He sighed and shrugged to himself. There was no use dwelling on the past; all he could do was act in the here-and-now and wait for whatever came.
Five
“Would you just shut up!?” Callie snapped at the noisy bugle player, then rolled on her side and pulled her blanket up over her head. The offending instrument was roughly twenty meters away, but in her exhausted state, it might as well have been only one meter.
“Come on, people, up and at ’em!” cried Headmistress Shawna. “The men are on the move, so we need to be up and alert for whatever comes. Don’t forget there’s a war going on, not some kind of summer retreat!”
“As if I could think it was,” Callie muttered. She managed to drift off to sleep before a girl named Lily yanked her blanket down and shook her.
“Hey, get up already!” Lily said. “You’re supposed to be up!”
“No, you can’t make me.”
“Come on, missy, you’ll get us all in trouble.”
“I don’t care anymore. We feed ’em, they fight, we bandage ’em up, they fight and die some more. It’s all so pointless.”
“Oh, get over yourself and help with the chores already. We need to move the camp away from the river. Get up!”
Lily gave her a light kick, prompting Callie to sit up to defend herself. But Lily ended up running away, allowing Callie to land her head back on her pillow. She snoozed for a few precious seconds before deciding it was best to get up. The next person to rouse her awake might be less polite.
She got to work helping to move the cooking pots into carts and rolling utensils and other things into travel blankets. All the while the sounds of men marching and readying gear filled the air, leaving little room for conversation amongst the maids.
“All this manpower just to take over an unfinished dam?” she wondered aloud as she filled up a cart.
“I heard there were more Lonsarans than anticipated,” one of her coworkers replied.
“Well, I heard we waited so long that the enemy got reinforcements,” another said. “That’s what we get for thinking war can be waged on a neat little schedule.”
Callie made no reply, wanting to take all rumors with a grain of salt. Rumors could spread far and wide whether they were true or not, and as much as she wanted to believe the Church was working on an armistice, it sounded like something one man with no connections could easily fabricate.
Once some of the carts were loaded up and driven away, Callie
had some time to kill, so she took to sewing, starting by mending a sword wound on a leather cuirass which was easier said than done. Poking a needle through leather was tough enough, but there was also the chance the thread would unravel as she pulled it through the hole. She learned to make each hole larger than usual before running the thread, making the mundane process longer and more painstaking than she liked. At least it gave her time to be alone with her thoughts.
At around eleven o’ clock, when most of the men had gone except for some lingering reinforcement units, Jonas came over with a half-eaten carrot and a cup in hand. “Hi, Callie, this is for you,” he said, offering the cup.
She sniffed the contents and took a sip. It was blackberry juice with the skins still in it. The skins could be a turn-off for some people, but Callie liked the texture, and they didn’t make the juice any less delicious. “Thank you, Jonas, that’s very nice of you.”
Jonas briefly smiled at the compliment then suddenly said, “I’m sorry.”
“Hmm? Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry, Callie, but … he’s going to die.”
She needed a moment for the words to sink in. “What are you talking about?”
“Your friend, what’s his name? He’s going to die.”
She studied his face with an angry frown, searching for a sign that he didn’t mean what he was saying. It wasn’t like him to tell nasty lies, though; he was normally honest to a fault. “All right, who put you up to this? Was it Sally? Monica? You go and tell them there’s a time and place for stupid shit like this, and now is not it.” Jonas flinched, and his lower lip started quivering. Callie rolled her eyes and said, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m not angry at you, but if you go around saying things like that, you’re going to get people upset.”
The Hunt for the Three Roses Page 4
