The Brothers' War

by Jeff Grubb

  Urza said something softly that the captain could not hear.

  “Beg pardon, sir?” he asked.

  “I just asked why,” said Urza sadly, looking at the warlord’s face. “Why did he do this?”

  “You heard the Fallaji devil,” the captain said. “They wanted to invade Yotia. To regain land they lost generations ago. It’s the desert way, carrying grudges for generations—”

  “No,” said Urza, his voice now filled with steel. “He was ready for this. This ambush. The ornithopters. The bombs. Goblin powder, wasn’t it? The warlord was preparing for an attack all the time. It should have been a massacre. If not for my brother’s engine, it would have been.”

  The Captain of the Guard shifted uneasily but said nothing.

  “And why did he not tell me?” asked Urza bitterly. “Why not tell me he was going to use my machines like this?”

  The captain stammered, “I-I couldn’t say, sir.”

  Urza laid the body of the warlord on the shattered floor of the pavilion and turned toward the captain. “Yes, you can say,” Urza said icily. “You can say everything you know. Who knew about this? What were the full plans? What did you hope to accomplish? Why did you not tell me? Why did you not tell the princess? You can, and will answer those questions.”

  The captain shifted his feet uneasily.

  “Because,” Urza continued, turning back to the body, “because I have to go back to Kroog now and tell my wife her father is dead. And I will need all the reasons I can muster to make her understand. Because I don’t understand it myself.”

  Tawnos moved softly through the halls of the palace, with a subtle grace that belied his large frame. In the months since the death of the warlord, everyone had learned to move more quietly through the marble halls of the palace of Kroog.

  The news of the warlord’s death struck the Yotians like a cold wave of seawater. It was sudden, unexpected, and decisive. For most of the Yotians, the warlord had been the only leader they had ever known, and he had seemed immortal.

  Now he was dead. Cut down by a Fallaji blade, said one story. No, said another, his heart was burst by Fallaji magic. No, contended a third, he was boiled alive by the steaming breath of a diabolic machine, a machine controlled by the Chief Artificer’s evil brother. No, the ruler was wearing one of the Chief Artificer’s amulets, and it exploded. The warlord saved the Chief Artificer from a red-haired demoness summoned by the Chief Artificer’s evil brother. Even when the truth was finally determined and circulated, the other tales survived and grew in the telling.

  One tale both true and widely popular was that Urza returned from Korlinda late one evening, piloting his distinctive ornithopter and bearing the body of the warlord. It was said he flew without rest from Korlinda. Others noted he did stop briefly, but the flight took him only two days. He laid the body to rest in the palace shrine and sent word to the temples of the news. Then he visited the new queen with the sad tidings.

  The state funeral was lavish and lasted ten days. People came from the farthest reaches of Yotia to pass before the warlord one last time and pay their final respects. Guards had to be mounted along the funeral bier, not to protect the body but to help move those who collapsed alongside, fainting from despair. The most notable casualty during this procession was Kayla’s matron, who flung herself in tears onto the bier and eventually had to be dispatched to relatives in the country to recover.

  Queen Kayla and her royal consort, Chief Artificer Urza, appeared only on the last day. Their faces were drawn and tired, and they neither spoke nor smiled during their grim vigil.

  After the body was interred within its great shrine, the queen retired to her quarters, and the Chief Artificer went to his orniary. A calm settled over Kroog, but it was a false peace as the merchants returned to their stores, the guildsmen to their crafts, and the scholars to their temple classes. The calm only barely hid the anger of the people. The Fallaji had killed their beloved warlord, and the desert people would pay.

  There were incidents. Fallaji traders (and in one case a Zegon jeweler) were lynched in the streets. Bands of young adventurers rode into Fallaji territory seeking revenge, and when they did not return, additional bands set out to seek revenge for them. In order to prevent further foolhardiness, the army swung its doors wide open to anyone who wished to join. Recruitment tripled in a month.

  Eventually the queen appeared in public, but she looked worn by her ordeal. Some noted that the warlord had protected her for too long from the duties of her position, and now she was feeling the strain. Others said she was meeting with the nobles and the guild leaders, assembling her own response to the Fallaji. Many, including Tawnos, noticed that when she appeared, she appeared alone.

  The Chief Artificer, it was whispered, had retreated to his lab to prepare a secret weapon with which to defeat the desert tribesmen. Some said that it was a new version of ornithopter, a more powerful bomb, or a gigantic version of his metal soldier, which had now gained the sobriquet of “Urza’s Avenger” for its attempt to seek revenge against the warlord’s murderer. When the machine’s fragments were returned from Korlinda with the returning army, it was interred alongside the warlord, like a faithful dog with its master.

  Rusko had not returned, and Tawnos learned that while the clockmaker had survived the attack, he would not be coming back to Kroog any time soon. The Captain of the Guard had been reassigned to a patrol unit to the west along the Fallaji frontier and replaced in his duties within the palace. Over the course of the month every pilot who had gone to Korlinda was transferred as well, also to units along the long frontier with the desert tribesmen. The seneschal remained, but seemed to be on a short leash, with Queen Kayla holding the other end.

  Every other official, courtier, and servant in the palace was made suddenly aware that if the new queen noticed something she did not care for, that something was removed. Everyone moved around the palace on tiptoe and spoke in whispers.

  The Fallaji were, for their part, surprisingly quiet. They launched a brief raid into the Sword Marches, which provoked a counterraid deep into the desert before it ran out of both supplies and enemies. Soon after the order came down, signed both by the queen and the Chief Artificer: Every inch of Yotian ground would be held, but no one would raid Fallaji territories without explicit orders. Many took this as a sign that the queen’s consort was working on something very deadly and decisive for the Fallaji.

  Of all the people in the city of Kroog, only Tawnos knew what the Chief Artificer had been doing for the month following the warlord’s death. Urza had stayed in the orniary night and day. He had dismissed the students for the moment, sending them to mourn the warlord and never calling them back. He allowed Tawnos to remain, though, and his chief apprentice worked hard, keeping the machines oiled and the canvas supple. Mostly, however, Tawnos stayed out of Urza’s way.

  Once or twice a day Urza would emerge from his lair to meet with the newest Captain of the Guard or to send a terse message to some bureaucrat or other. Then he retreated again to his lair.

  And in his study, he stared at a piece of blank paper mounted on his drawing board. He stared at it for hours. At first Tawnos wondered at what marvels Urza was dreaming up. But after the fifth day, the young toy maker became convinced that his master was simply overwhelmed by the responsibility that awaited him outside the orniary.

  Tawnos had ventured his opinion on the current situation to Urza just once. He had heard others note that the Chief Artificer would not strike against the Fallaji because the desert tribesmen were led by his evil brother, whom Urza had not seen since they were both children. Some argued that Urza hesitated because he wanted to kill his brother himself. Others argued that he was afraid of the brother and did not want to fight. Tawnos cut away the implications of cowardice and put the question to his master. Why had he not struck back?

  Urza almost exploded. “War is a waste of resources!” he shouted. “We lost four ornithopters in that fruitless assault, and I c
annot replace them until I get more power stones! Why should I waste time, gold, and precious lives in battle? To chase ghosts in the desert? Why don’t I just burn down the city and save my brother the bother?”

  The outburst was as surprising as it was sudden. Afterward Tawnos moved more quietly in the orniary as well.

  Messages arrived, and Tawnos received them at the door. To those sent by the Captain of the Guard, Urza responded in a short note delivered by Tawnos. Sometimes the message was from some merchant or craftsmen. Half the time the artificer would respond; other times he crumpled the letter and tossed it away.

  Some messages were marked with the signet ring of the queen. These Urza left unopened by his drafting table. A flurry of them appeared for a while, and then they gradually tapered off.

  Finally such a note arrived for Tawnos, demanding his presence in the queen’s quarters that evening. A meeting at midnight, the missive said, and no one, not even Urza, should be told.

  Tawnos moved quietly through the corridors. There were no guards in the private wing of the building, and had not been since the warlord’s funeral. It was late, and even the servants had abandoned their continual fussing and retired for the evening.

  He reached the doors to the royal household. In the distance he heard the temple bells sounding the midnight hour. He knocked softly.

  For a moment there was nothing, and Tawnos feared his rapping had not been heard. Then a weak voice said “Enter.”

  Tawnos pushed the door open gently. “Your Majesty?”

  Queen Kayla was seated by the window looking out at the city of Kroog spread below. She was dressed in a sheer gown covered by a crimson robe. She held a large brandy snifter in her hand, and even from across the room Tawnos could see it was filled higher than it should have been.

  The queen said nothing, and Tawnos entered, closing the door behind him. “Your Majesty?” he repeated.

  Kayla sighed deeply. “No,” she said. “Don’t call me that. I have been ‘Your Majesty’d’ to tears today. Today and every other day.” She took a sip of the brandy. “Call me Kayla. Can you do that, Tawnos Toy Maker?”

  Tawnos opened his mouth and tried to form his lips around the words, but they refused to cooperate. Finally, he said, “I’m afraid I can’t, Ma’am.”

  Kayla snorted, a pretty, ladylike sound. “Ma’am will have to do, then—at least for the moment.” She spun in place on the window seat and set her slippered feet to the floor. “Would you like something to eat? I had the kitchen send up some chilled meat and cheeses.”

  She waved an arm at a nearby table. It had been set with fine crystal and silverware and a pair of elegantly twisted candles. Porcelain plates as translucent as the wings of an ornithopter were laden with food. There were meats, both chopped and shaved, cheeses, fruits, and several pickled items that Tawnos could not immediately identify.

  “If you wish, Your . . Ma’am,” said Tawnos, moving toward the tables.

  Kayla crossed paths with him, en route to her own seat. As she passed, she stumbled, spilling a bit of her drink and brushing against the apprentice.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, holding a hand out against his chest to steady herself.

  “Not to worry,” replied Tawnos. He inhaled a heady lungful of her perfume mixed with the fumes of brandy. If forced to guess, he would say that the brandy was older than the warlord had been.

  Tawnos tried to recall the last time the queen drank more than a single glass of wine with dinner. He came up empty but surmised that Kayla had already refilled her goblet at least once before he had arrived.

  Carefully, Tawnos sat down, unsure what to do next. He thought of himself as a simple coastal boy, lacking the sophistication of High Yotian society, but he was fairly certain of how the evening was shaping up.

  Kayla stabbed a morsel of cheese with her knife and waved the cheddar-tipped utensil at the apprentice.

  “So,” she said. “How is he?”

  “He who, Ma’am?” parried Tawnos, looking over the pickled things, trying to determine what exactly they had been in life.

  His answer amused Kayla. “ ‘He who?’ he asks. He who is my loving and dedicated husband, that is who. He who you see more regularly than I these days.” She bit off the last words neatly, and leaned back, evidently pleased she had managed to say them without tangling her tongue.

  Tawnos grasped at words. “He…He is well, Your Majesty.”

  “Kayla,” said the queen.

  “Kay…Kayla. Ma’am.” Tawnos blushed as he said it.

  “I write to him, but he does not respond,” she sighed, popping the bit of cheese in her mouth and looking for another target.

  “I know,” said Tawnos quietly. “But he has been busy. With patrols and things. His designs.”

  “Ah yes.” The queen raised her hands toward the ceiling. “Urza’s wonderful designs! How I envy him! He can lock himself up in his room and not talk to anyone, least of all his wife, because he is always working on his wonderful designs!”

  Tawnos suddenly realized he had answered her original question wrong from the start. But how was he to know that she wanted to hear Master Urza was miserable?

  The queen seemed deeply interested in her brandy glass; then she suddenly looked up. “I didn’t expect much from the marriage, you know. I hoped for someone to talk to. Or a least someone to listen. An heir or two to make Daddy happy. And now, no heirs, no Daddy, and not even a husband anymore.” She looked over at Tawnos. “So, are you?”

  Tawnos blinked. His head was swimming from the perfume. “Am I what?”

  “Are you someone I can talk to?” asked the queen. “Because I’ve had it with people whom I can talk at. Who make all the right noises but really don’t engage in conversation at all.” She was motioning with both arms now, the ancient brandy slopping over the sides of the glass. “I can talk at the seneschal, and I can talk at the matron, or I could when she was here. But there’s no one I can talk to.

  “I mean, I felt I could talk to Urza,” she added softly. “Not often. If there was daylight, he worked on his plans, his wondrous devices. But often enough. And I always liked listening to him, even if I didn’t understand what he was talking about. And now…now…” She let her voice trailed off.

  When Tawnos had been a very young man, he had worked on his uncle’s fishing rig. One morning, when he was not paying sufficient attention, the boat had been breached by a large wave, and he had been knocked overboard. The young Tawnos panicked, floundered, and found himself struggling underwater. He was saved by his uncle, who pulled him aboard and suggested gently that the young man find another line of work.

  At this moment Tawnos felt much the same way, though no helpful uncle was in sight.

  “I am sooooo jealous of you, you know,” Kayla said, her eyes becoming hooded slits as she charged off on a new tack. “I mean, he spends all his time with you, and when he talks about lift and drag and pulley ratios and snail-gears, you honestly understand what he’s talking about. I’m not dumb, but on my best day I couldn’t venture a guess about ideal pulley ratios.”

  Tawnos started to speak. “Everybody has their own strengths and weakne—”

  “Am I so horrible?” she demanded, leaning across the table and grabbing his hand. “Am I so repulsive?” As she leaned forward her robe fell open, the gown beneath almost transparent in the candlelight.

  Tawnos closed his eyes tightly. “No,” he said, “you’re not horrible at all.”

  “Then why won’t he come home?” she said, drawing back. Her hand still clutched him, and her voice was filled with unwept tears. “He sleeps at his work. You know that. That’s what I need to know. Why won’t he come back to me?”

  Carefully, Tawnos pried the queen’s fingers from around his wrists. As he spoke, he was aware that Kayla was listening for the first time that evening. “I think,” he said calmly, “he’s in pain himself.”

  “Him?” said Kayla, leaning back. “The great thinking machine? The par
agon of logic? The chief artifact of Kroog?”

  “All that,” replied Tawnos. “And the man who stood next to your father when he was killed. The man who could not save him from dying. Have you talked to him about what happened at Korlinda? I mean, really talked?”

  Kayla looked at him and blinked.

  “I’ll take that as a no, then,” said Tawnos.

  “But he didn’t know what Daddy was planning,” she said. “I didn’t realize it myself.”

  “Right,” answered Tawnos. “But that doesn’t make it any easier. Urza came back, and everyone treated him like a hero because he survived and your father didn’t. And he has to come back to you….” He motioned with his hands.

  “So he doesn’t come back,” finished Kayla, softly. The fuzziness of the alcohol seemed banished for the moment. “He’s punishing himself because he thinks I blame him. Or I should blame him, even if I don’t. Which I don’t.”

  “Uh-huh,” grunted Tawnos.

  “So I should march down to his workshop and we should talk about this?” she asked.

  Tawnos held up both hands, remembering his own experience at being direct. “Perhaps it would be better to start with something else. Something not directly connected with the past few months. Do you two have any happy moments together?”

  “Wait,” said Kayla, and Tawnos thought of an overworked engine, leaking steam and straining to function. “Yes. Yes I do.”

  “Start with that,” said Tawnos.

  The queen’s face brightened visibly. “Yes. Yes, I know what will work.” She crossed over to the writing desk and penned a short note, then handed it to Tawnos. “Here. Give this to Urza. Make sure he reads it. Tell him it is urgent.”

  “Of course,” said Tawnos, rising from his chair. “He’ll still be awake at this hour.”

  “And, Tawnos,” she said. The apprentice turned, and Kayla leaned forward, pressing her lips against his cheeks. “Thank you.”