The Brothers' War

by Jeff Grubb

  Urza’s metal humanoid would also be sent out to the meeting, but would go by wagon. Rusko was in charge of this move and used one of the spring-axled wagons Urza had developed the previous year. The clockmaker was particularly interested in a vehicle that would not rock excessively, though Urza pointed out that his metal creation could walk to Korlis and probably make better time than Rusko would. Rusko, for his part, invoked a number of Yotian and non-Yotian deities and insisted he did not want to have to come back and tell the artificer that his great creation had been lost due to a broken limb assembly or had been spotted by farmers while walking through eastern Korlis and accidentally dismantled.

  In the end Tawnos was left behind with the school; Kayla remained behind as well. The warlord cited the dangers of travel, even through friendly lands. He needed her and the seneschal, he said, to remain behind and run the country in his absence. He did, however, take the Captain of the Guard with him. The royal party left at midsummer’s day, and Urza left twenty days later with his flight of ornithopters.

  The natives of Kroog threw celebrations at the drop of a plumed hat, and both departures were filled with much pomp and cheering. The warlord rode out at the head of his royal caravan, mounted on a powerful horse, the descendant of ones he had ridden in his great war triumphs. For many of the natives of Kroog, that was how he would always be remembered: astride his stallion in full armor, cantering at the head of his forces.

  Yet even that departure paled before the celebration when Urza and the ornithopters took off.

  They had cleared the palace’s great court for the departure, and for the week before Urza camped on the site with his craft. He doublechecked every strut and spar and made sure there were sufficient spare parts to cover every eventuality. Tawnos mentioned to Kayla that they were carrying enough components to knit an additional ornithopter if need be.

  The crowds started gathering as the week progressed, watching Urza move between the machines, checking figures with Tawnos, testing and retesting wires, and going over charts and schedules. An electric thrill mounted as the crowd swelled. All had seen the ornithopters before; they were a common sight in the skies over Kroog. Yet never had the citizens seen so many together at once.

  On the morning of the departure Kayla appeared to wish her husband well. The crowds watched the couple embrace and imagined quiet, tender words spoken between them. Then Urza gave the signal to Tawnos. Tawnos in turn waved to the rest of the flight to prepare their crafts as Urza climbed into his ornithopter’s white housing.

  As one the ornithopter pilots engaged their power stones, and the great winged devices came to life. Slowly they pumped the air, limbering up the wings that had been carefully prepared and preened for days previously. A wave of applause swept through the gathered crowd. A few of the pilots waved from the windows, bringing another, louder round of clapping.

  Then the beating of the wings intensified. Urza’s craft, the one with the double-curved wings, took a little hop, and then suddenly was airborne, as effortlessly as a bird in flight. The two ornithopters behind it took similar hops, and they were aloft as well. Then the two behind those joined in the flight. In turn each pair of ornithopters arose from the courtyard like a flock of startled doves. The assembled citizens of Kroog cheered as they took to the sky.

  The ornithopters took a long, leisurely arc around the palace of Kroog, beating wings to gain altitude, and the crowd yelled itself raw as they did so. The people waved pennants and threw the small smoke-poppers that had become popular of late. Some climbed the higher spires and waved great flags. The ornithopters locked their wings and gave a wing dip in response to the shouting populace. Then they were gone, dancing into the morning sun.

  The people watched them until they were lost from sight, until other buildings or the low hills to the east blocked the view or, for those who had climbed the spires, when the ornithopter fleet had become small, indistinct dots on the horizon. A few watched the princess, however, and some claimed that her eyes were wet and that she dabbed them with her kerchief as she turned back to her palace, the seneschal at her side.

  In the days and months that followed, some would say she had wept because her husband was leaving her. Some would say it was because she had dreamed what was about to happen and knew she could not change it. And some would say that she knew that the end of her small part of the world and the destruction of Kroog would begin at the Council of Korlis.

  * * *

  —

  The machines performed remarkably well, and took only four days to make the trip to Korlinda. Urza had ordered Rusko to set up a series of base camps between Kroog and Korlinda as the clockmaker pushed eastward with the wagons. All the camps were in Yotian territory and in clear terrain. Each was fully operational by the time Urza’s ships reached it, ready with soft beds and hot meals for the pilots after they had completed their day’s flying.

  The weather was clear and pristine, and even the storms that regularly lashed the southeastern coast of Terisiare seemed to have gone on holiday. Urza had allowed for an extra day of flying time in case of heavy thunderstorms, which normally roosted in the southern Khers, but there was not so much as a heavy ground fog for the entire trip.

  Indeed the most difficult problem the pilots faced was the Yotians themselves. At every base camp a collection of spectators assembled, all curious about the Chief Artificer and his mighty machines. They clustered around the fields, waiting for the craft, and on occasion the ornithopters would be forced to pass close over the crowd in order to disperse them and create a large enough site on which to land. One of the pilots observed it was like herding sheep, but he said it too close to the Chief Artificer. That pilot spent the rest of the flight in the rear of the formation and did not speak again for the rest of the trip.

  And once they had landed, there were requests for favors—in particular, for rides. Urza at first refused, but the pilots, even after a full day at the controls, were willing to volunteer the time to take young children and teenagers aloft. Finally Urza gave his assent but made clear he was not going to provide rides himself or allow anyone to fly his white craft with the double-curved wings.

  The pilots had all been chosen by Rusko, who said he had done so to save Urza time. They were at least five years Urza’s junior and had an enthusiasm the artificer did not remember having possessed at the same age. The majority were known for stunt flying, for pushing their crafts as far as they could go, and several had walked away from nasty crack-ups. Urza would have chosen those with a better technical background and a higher safety rating, but he knew anyone properly vetted and trained could be a suitable pilot for the ornithopters. Indeed during this trip even the most cavalier of the young men flew dead level and kept in formation with Urza’s ornithopter for the entire journey.

  The site that had been chosen for the council was near the meeting point of the three “civilized” nations of eastern Terisiare. Where the River Kor tumbled from the Khers into the first of several level plateaus stepping down to the Shielded Sea was a suitable spot. It was also connected at the point with an anomalous sliver of no-man’s-land, an undulating strip that followed the inhospitable peaks of the Kher Ridges, as yet unofficially claimed by any side in the dispute.

  The site was a huge, level field with a great, open-air pavilion erected in the center over a raised platform. Four other camp areas surrounded the central pavilion, one for each of the attendees. When Urza arrived, three sides of the square had been complete. The warlord’s Yotians formed the western side of the square, the mercantile Korlisians were to the south, and the Argivians occupied the eastern side. The space to the north of the pavilion was empty. That had been reserved for the Fallaji, though none knew if they would appear.

  Urza set down his ornithopter to the west, near the Yotian camp. The other pilots followed with military precision. Each ornithopter swooped, hovered for moment on back-pushing wings, then settled in place. There were no crowds here, no rush of commoners hopin
g to catch a glimpse of the Chief Artificer and his pilots. The Yotians were familiar with ornithopters, and the representatives of the two other nations feigned disinterest for purely political reasons.

  If Urza had hoped to meet any of Tocasia’s former students among the Argivian delegation, he was disappointed. The Argivians were, to a man, bureaucrats and diplomats with strong connections to the Argivian king. Argivian politicians considered that the artifact-hunting scholars and their supporting nobles held radical views in the matter of the Fallaji, namely that the desert should be free and open for Argivian exploration. The Crown, though weak, felt otherwise: Argive should end where the hills grew rough and waterless, and the Fallaji should be left to their desert ways. Since the Crown chose who went to Korlinda, all the Argivians sent were isolationist in nature, hoping to obtain a quick treaty, recognized borders, and a safe retreat back home. The warlord was visibly irritated by their presence.

  The Argivians did bring their own ornithopters, but these were primitive in design, little advanced beyond the constructs that Urza, his brother, and Tocasia had pulled from the embankment of the dry wash many years before. Urza learned from the Argivian pilots that the Crown had put a claim on all salvage from the desert and had appropriated most of Tocasia’s legacy. The noble houses continued to dig and explore the desert, but many no longer told the Crown what they found there.

  The Korlisians were pure merchants; the ruling council of that nation had rested in the hands of the guilds for generations. The current lord of the council was a portly woman. Her opinion, and the opinion of the well-dressed merchants in attendance, was that they would negotiate dearly but without a doubt would secure unmolested trade routes to Tomakul. The warlord seemed to tolerate them only slightly more than he did the Argivians.

  Each of the civilized countries brought its own honor guards. Yotia’s force was the largest, Argive’s was the most ornately armored, and Korlis’s was the best equipped, as benefited mercenaries in the merchants’ employ.

  Urza retreated to his own tent, where Rusko already had uncrated his metal humanoid. The transit had not been kind to the metallic titan, and something had jarred loose in one of its ankles. Urza spent the first night and part of the next day fixing it so the mechanical creature would be fit to operate in time for the opening ceremonies.

  The opening came and passed without the Fallaji’s presence. Official introductions were made and professional courtesies established. There was much talk of cooperation, most of it over the course of a large feast in the pavilion the first night. The Fallaji did not appear during the day, nor did any of the outriders report signs of them.

  Urza spent most of that day dressed in the high-collared, stiffnecked gowns of office, which he had worn previously only once: at his official appointment as Chief Artificer. The robes were fire-red with white piping and covered his body from neck to ankles. In the summer warmth of the highlands they were unbearable, and Urza’s only consolation was that the official dress of most of the rest of the assemblage looked even more uncomfortable.

  The second day came and went in similar fashion, though by the day’s end the alliance of the three coastal nations was already starting to fray. The representatives of the Argivian king refused to admit there were any incursions from Argive into the Fallaji territory. The king did, however, have a surplus of functional power stones, which he was willing to use as bargaining chips to buy agreement from the Korlisians and Yotians. The warlord was insulted by such a blatant bribe but knew both his country and the merchants could use the Thran stones. The Korlisians were already on the verge of self-destruction since only two ornithopters were to be left behind and no fewer than five major guilds felt they had the rights to them. Tense words threatened to break into open squabbles, and by the end of the second day all parties took their evening meals in their own camps.

  There was still no word from the Fallaji, and many were starting to say the conference would disband without them appearing. The warlord spoke of insults to the Yotian people by their absence, and the Argivian diplomats spoke of patience. The Korlisians seemed visibly worried they would not get their ornithopters if the Fallaji did not appear, since the warlord had thrown an armed guard around the flying craft.

  The Fallaji appeared on the morning of the third day, without warning. There was a low mountain fog that day, and as it slowly burned off, the desert people were suddenly…there.

  None had seen them arrive, but as the mist lifted there appeared lines of tents clustered around a large, white central tent. The desert people outnumbered any two of the other groups combined, and all apparently were warriors.

  A path had been cleared from the Fallaji tents to the main pavilion, and down this pathway came a strange procession. First marched an honor guard of warriors with gold, broad-brimmed helmets. Then came a litter carrying the qadir of the Fallaji’s self-styled empire. But it was at the object behind the qadir that most of the assembled personages gawked in a way they had not done when the Yotian ornithopters had arrived.

  It was a huge device made of brass, fashioned in the shape of a dragon. The morning sun glittered off the condensation along its flanks, and its head twisted slowly from side to side. Its front legs were like those of a legendary dragon, but its rear quarters were a collection of cogs and treads, and it churned the earth as it moved.

  The procession moved forward with slow, stately grace, in part to give the other members of the council time to prepare for the official meeting. The warlord assembled his staff on the pavilion first, including Urza and his mechanical man. The device that had won Kayla’s hand seemed woefully insufficient to deal with the titanic monster that approached. Urza followed his father-in-law’s pitying look at his creation, and his own countenance grew stern.

  The Korlisians gathered as well, their lord patiently waiting alongside the warlord as the Fallaji approached. The Argivians were late; its representatives pulled on their ceremonial jackets just as the procession reached the base of the pavilion.

  The honor guard parted, and the litter carrying the qadir came forward. Urza noted that the ruler of the Fallaji Empire, though younger than he, was already running to fat, and his flesh strained at his ceremonial robes.

  A stocky individual stepped out from behind the litter and Urza’s jaw dropped in shock. Mishra stood among the Fallaji.

  He was dressed in jade green robes, cut in the desert fashion with high slits along both legs to allow the wearer to ride and fight easily. He wore a cloth around his forehead, this also of green, embroidered with gold lettering in the Fallaji tongue.

  In his amazement Urza did not notice for a moment the female accompanying his brother, a stunning red-haired woman bearing an ornate staff, one tipped with a dolphin’s skull.

  Mishra halted next to the qadir’s litter, as if listening to last-minute instructions. His eyes flicked across the assembled group and stopped when they reached Urza. It could have been a trick of the morning light, but to Urza it seemed as if Mishra nodded at him.

  Urza returned the greeting with a slight bob of the head. Mishra stepped forward and addressed the gathered representatives of the other nations.

  “Greetings, most respected authorities and agents of the Eastern Nations. I am Mishra, the chief advisor of the qadir of the Suwwardi, first among equals of the Fallaji peoples. His most wise and respected excellency gives you his greetings, his apologies, and asks for your indulgence.

  “He gives you his greetings, for he hopes that matters will be resolved here to avoid further bloodshed on all sides. He makes his apologies for being so tardy in his arrival. We came here by mountain paths that many had thought lost, and had to proceed carefully. And last, he begs your indulgence, for his has been a long journey, and he would appreciate an opportunity to rest before attending to the task at hand. He would like to return to this pavilion after the noon meal to formally begin his work. He and I thank you for both the invitation and for your patience in this matter.”

&nb
sp; Mishra made a deep bow. The qadir did not wait for a response from the other council members. Instead he silently raised his hand. As one, the Fallaji procession reversed course. The dragon engine backed toward the Fallaji camp, followed by the litter and the honor guard. Mishra and the woman took up the rear, but the dark-haired young man lingered just long enough to look over his shoulder.

  Urza shouted, “Brother!” and stepped forward, away from the rest of his delegation. He could hear the other delegates suddenly burst into a buzz of gossip. He looked back and saw the warlord look stern. Rusko was at the warlord’s side and whispered something in the ruler’s ear. The warlord nodded, and Urza turned back to his brother.

  Mishra turned around entirely now. The woman next to him tightened her grip on her staff, but the younger brother raised a hand and dismissed her as well. She hesitated a moment, then turned and followed the rest of the retreating Fallaji.

  Mishra stood statue-stiff as Urza descended from the pavilion. The younger brother did not extend his hand, but rather stood calmly, hands folded before him. Urza stopped a few feet away and assumed an identical position, hands folded in front of him.

  “Brother,” repeated Urza.

  “Brother,” replied Mishra.

  A long silence grew between them, and each studied the other. To Urza, Mishra looked more weather-beaten, tanned, and muscular than the last time he had seen him. To Mishra, Urza looked leaner and older than before. The younger brother noticed small lines were already growing around his older sibling’s eyes. Urza’s flesh was the pasty color of the city dwellers.