The Brothers' War

by Jeff Grubb

  “Phyrexia,” Mishra said at last.

  Ashnod looked at him and said, “The dreams again?”

  Mishra nodded absentmindedly. “Words carried on the black winds,” he said. “This place is called Phyrexia.” He stared into the middle distance, trying to get his bearings. “That way,” he said at last. “I think the ground slopes down to a pond or something.”

  Actually it sloped down to a lake, a large, black mirror covered with rainbow patterns of oil. Several large machines, kin to the mak fawa back in Koilos, waded through its oily expanse, dredging other pieces of metal from the lake’s shallow floor. There were four of them, Ashnod saw.

  “You stay here,” said Mishra. “Keep your staff ready.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Ashnod.

  Mishra blinked at her. “I’m going to try to control them. As I controlled our dragon engine.” He spoke as if the answer to her question was obvious.

  “And if they don’t want to be controlled?” asked Ashnod.

  “That’s why you have to keep your staff ready,” returned Mishra. “Be prepared to run.”

  Ashnod waited nervously as Mishra crept forward. One of the dragon engines, the smallest, saw him first, and let out a low, bleating cry. The other three looked up at once.

  All four converged on Mishra, the smallest reaching him first. Ashnod held her breath as the small metallic dragon leaned forward toward the newcomer, sniffing him as a dog would a stranger.

  Mishra stood calmly, as if being sniffed by engines of mass destruction was a common occurrence.

  Then the dragon engine dropped on its haunches and laid its head against the ground. The other three did the same. Ashnod could see these were not identical to the mak fawa she knew. Their heads were blunter, shaped more like shovels, and their hides were duller than the brass monster they had left behind.

  Mishra waved for Ashnod to come ahead, and she stepped into the clearing by the lake, her staff still at the ready.

  Mishra nodded grimly. “It’s not the stone,” he said. “I thought it was my power stone that controlled them, but it’s not. It’s me. I can think what I want them to do, and they will do it.” He seemed more puzzled than pleased by the discovery.

  “Good,” said Ashnod, wondering for a moment exactly how good it was. “But these seem large to take back through the portal. Can you master something smaller?”

  There was a gong in the distance, the deep chiming of an iron bell. The dragon engines looked up and almost bolted back into the oily lake. The bell tolled again, this time close, and the dragon engines started to waver, caught between their obedience to Mishra and their fear of whatever was approaching. The bell tolled a third time, and Ashnod could now hear the twisting, rending noise of metallic vegetation being ripped from its roots. The three larger engines panicked and splashed back into the lake. The smaller one remained but whined like an engine caught between gears.

  Part of the forest to their left disappeared, and a true giant lumbered forward. It was shaped like a land-going ship, set on treads, with a great maw set into its prow. Within the maw were spinning sets of teeth, like great scythes. They ripped through the plants and trees of the jungle with ease. When it struck a particularly large tree, the shattered bits of trunk made the booming, bell-like noise.

  And standing above the mouth on a platform was a tall, demonic figure. It seemed to be made of metal as well, and shards of dark bone erupted from its leathery skin. It wore armor that seemed almost a part of it. A rictus grin of exposed skin gleamed along its fleshless face. A pair of horns nested among a tangle of swaying, wormlike tendrils that sprang from its head and swept backward like banners made of human skin.

  “Run!” shouted Mishra, but Ashnod needed no encouragement. She followed the raki back up the hill toward the glowing disk that led to safety.

  The vegetation tore at her robes as she ran, as if it were trying to ensnare her, to hold her in thrall for the dark machine that pursued them. Something tore a long gash along one arm, and a flower fluttered in her face, nearly blinding her with its acid.

  She looked back only once, to see that the smallest of the dragon engines had not fled back to the lake but was standing, bleating plaintively. The demon machine with its spinning scythes was almost on top of it.

  The machine did not slow down as it rammed the smaller creature. The dragon engine disappeared in a flurry of silver wire and metal plates.

  Ashnod turned around and ran faster. Behind them, the machine had turned and was pursuing them up the hill.

  Mishra was waiting at the portal but would not go through without her. She dived into the portal headfirst. Part of her mind noted that they had not truly established that the disk led back to the caverns. But, she thought wryly, anywhere they landed would have less terror than the Phyrexian beast that followed them.

  She sprawled across the cold stone floor of the chamber, her staff skittering ahead of her and slamming against the far wall. She turned in place, and saw Mishra nimbly dash through the disk as well. He turned to the book-shaped embankment, and his hands hesitated over the collection of glyphs. He touched one, and nothing happened.

  Ashnod shouted, and Mishra reached out to grab the power crystal from its cradle among the mirrors. He pulled it from its socket and cursed as the warm crystal burned his flesh. The stone that could power the su-chi was insufficient to maintain the great Thran machine and was overloaded with power. Mishra dropped the smoking stone, and it smashed against the floor into a hundred shards.

  The golden disk winked out of sight.

  Ashnod held a hand to her chest and felt her heart thundering against her rib cage. For the first time she considered the idea that the mak fawa might have other masters in addition to Mishra, and that those masters might object to trespassers.

  To Mishra she said, “The creature on the machine. You knew what it was?”

  Mishra nodded, gasping for breath. Ashnod said, “From your dreams?” Mishra nodded again.

  “Remind me to pay more attention to dreams,” Ashnod muttered quietly, half to herself.

  Mishra shook his head and blew on his burned fingers. “We got what we came for. Come along, now.”

  Without the su-chi’s power stone in its cradle, the lights began to flicker again. Mishra headed for the mouth of the cavern at a rapid clip. Confused, Ashnod followed.

  She caught up with him at the entranceway. “What do you mean,” she said, “we got what we came for? We had to leave everything behind and slam the door behind us to avoid that…that machine demon.”

  Mishra held up a hand. “Shush. Watch.”

  There was a tremor that ran up the length of the canyon, and Ashnod saw one of the surviving buildings along the valley floor cave in on itself. Then, near the cavern entrance, the ground erupted. A shovel-headed dragon’s head launched from the sand like an arrow, trailing its serpentine neck behind it. There was another eruption and another dragon’s head. And then a third. The three engines from the lake, transported from there to here. All three clawed their way from the sand and half-slithered, half-rolled toward the cavern entrance.

  They knelt before Mishra, recognizing him as their new master.

  “Impressive,” said Ashnod. “So what do we do now?”

  Mishra smiled. It was an unpleasant grimace, but it was the first smile Ashnod had seen from him since they entered the canyon. “Now?” he said thoughtfully, as if turning over possibilities in his mind.

  He looked at the dragon engines and said, “Now we call another peace conference.”

  * * *

  —

  Back in the cavern, there was a flicker of light, and the golden portal opened again. This time it could only manage to create a disk a few inches in circumference. A leathery hand, its flesh dotted with shards of dark metal bone, reached through the small portal and clawed at the air. Once, twice, a third time, it scrabbled about, looking for something solid to grab hold of. Then the lights of the portal wavered again, and
the hand pulled quickly back, withdrawing seconds before the portal closed entirely.

  And everything was quiet in the Caverns of Koilos for another few years.

  The offer of peace talks came after a year of semi-regular fighting along the northern desert borders of the Sword Marches. It caught Tawnos and the rest of Yotia by surprise.

  The offer came without warning or preamble. A Fallaji rider appeared at one of the Yotian outposts under a flag of truce, bearing a message for the Queen of Kroog from the Qadir of the Suwwardi. The message was relayed to one of the ornithopter bases deep within Yotian territory and from there borne by air to the privy council at Kroog.

  The council consisted of the queen, the seneschal, the Captain of the Guard, and Tawnos. For a brief period a year earlier Urza had attended the meetings faithfully, but soon he began sending his apprentice as his proxy. With the arrival of the qadir’s message, though, Urza appeared in the council at the queen’s right hand. Tawnos stood behind the Chief Artificer’s chair and to one side. The apprentice noticed that Urza’s eyes did not leave the ornately scribed scroll now spread before them.

  “An offer for peace,” said Kayla.

  “An offer of truce,” corrected the seneschal, with a slight quaver in his voice. “A cessation of hostilities, a pulling back of forces, while peace is being discussed.”

  “How bad are the hostilities?” Kayla turned to the Captain of the Guard. The Newest Captain, as he was still thought of by many, was a thoughtful man and paused before he responded.

  “Sporadic but serious enough,” he said, and paused again. The mannerism bothered Tawnos, but the others at the table had grown used to the captain’s habit and let him gather his thoughts.

  “They fall into two groups,” he said finally. “One seems to be a traditional raid of the Fallaji type, a rapid push into our territory, looting a random town or caravan they encounter, then retreating before our forces can arrive. The other type of assault is carried out by a larger, more organized force that seems intent on destroying a specific target such as a bridge, a mill, or a fort. The dragon engine often accompanies these raids. There is less looting but more destruction.”

  “Those are organized attacks,” said Urza softly. “The others are just parties of desert raiders, seeking their own loot and glory. The attacks with the dragon engine are more organized and have a firm objective in mind.” His eyes did not leave the parchment bearing the truce offer. “Those organized raids have my brother’s approval and show his planning.”

  “Approved or not,” ventured the seneschal, “the effect is to demoralize the people of the Sword Marches and all along the River Mardun. The Fallaji regularly raid the territories on the far side of the river, and rumors swirl that they plan an attack across it sometime in the near future.”

  “Are they indeed planning such an attack?” asked Kayla, her voice firm and her manner dispassionate. Tawnos noticed that in council she usually let all sides speak, then made her decision.

  The seneschal looked at the captain, who paused, then said, “We have no knowledge at this time. We have fortified encampments on the far sides of the river, with bonfire towers to warn of us of any massed movements. The river is wide enough that even if they found or built sufficient boats, we would be prepared for any assault long before they could launch it.” Another pause. “However, maintaining garrisons along the Mardun stretches our resources even further.”

  Kayla thought about what the Newest Captain said, then nodded. “We can use the ornithopters for additional patrols.”

  “Those resources are stretching thin as well,” said Urza. “We have nearly thirty machines in six patrols of five each. If we get the power stones from Argive for which we have asked, then we can double that number, but the Argivian Crown is being”—the lean man bit his lip—“reticent.”

  Kayla nodded again. From what Urza had told her, the Argivians were practically swimming in power stones, most of them from Tocasia’s original encampment. However, it appeared that prying the stones from the ground was simple compared to prying them from the Argivians’ hands. Instead she said, “What is the status of the flights?”

  Urza answered while the captain was pausing. “Five of the flights are in the field, at bases throughout the northern Sword Marches. The sixth is here at the capital. The Sword Marches flights operate from permanent bases. I was thinking that we could establish a series of such bases along the border and move the flights from one to another as need be.”

  The captain frowned and said, “That would be taxing on the pilots.”

  “We have more capable pilots than we have craft for them to fly,” Urza replied. “The additional camps would give us sufficient maneuverability and increase our ability to respond. And perhaps they would give us the same element of surprise that the Fallaji are currently enjoying.”

  The captain shook his head. “The pilots need their rest.”

  “Should the machines sleep just because the men do?” asked Urza. There was a brittle irony in his voice.

  Tawnos had seen this battle before. When it came to the ornithopters, the Master Artificer held more sway than the Captain of the Guard did. The captain paused for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

  Kayla watched the interplay coolly, then said, “Urza, provide any plans for multiple bases to the captain. In the meantime, it sounds as if we are stretched thin indeed.”

  “We have more than just ornithopters,” said the captain. “We have foot patrols, civilian riders, and cavalry patrols.” He paused for a moment, and looked at Urza. “But yes, the continual raiding has stretched us thin.”

  “Then we will accept the offer to talk,” said Kayla. “Perhaps together we can come up with a solution.”

  “Unlikely,” said Urza. “Their demands, made back at Korlinda, were direct and left little room for negotiation. They want all the land they consider ‘traditional Fallaji territories.’ That includes the Sword Marches. Are you prepared to give that to them?”

  Kayla shook her head firmly. “It is part of my father’s legacy, for good or ill. Still, we will talk, if nothing else, to show the Yotia they deal with now is not the one they dealt with at Korlinda.”

  She rose from her seat, indicating the council was ended. The captain and seneschal rose as well. Urza, however, remained seated.

  The Chief Artificer reached out and tapped the parchment. “The question is,” he said to Tawnos, “are they the same Fallaji we dealt with at Korlinda?”

  * * *

  —

  The offer was accepted, and word was relayed back to the borders by ornithopter. Negotiators set a date at the end of the next month, at Kroog itself. A route of safe passage was proposed by the Fallaji through the heart of the Sword Marches. The Captain of the Guard protested, and the seneschal counteroffered a route along the Mardun River, just skirting the edges of the contested borderlands. The seneschal expected the Fallaji to reject any deviation from their demands but was pleasantly surprised when they accepted the alternate route without change.

  In the capital city of Kroog, preparations were subdued. Anti-Fallaji graffiti was carefully washed from the alleyway bricks, and a great open area was cleared before the city’s thick walls for the expected troops. Again, the seneschal was pleased to discover that the Fallaji would be bringing little more than an honor guard. He was less pleased to hear they would also bring the dragon engine.

  Urza and the Newest Captain took their own precautions. The palace troops were drilled to within an inch of perfection, and the normal garrison was supplemented by troops from the coastal regiments. They recalled a second flight of ornithopters from the Sword Marches to Kroog to join the five craft already there. Urza wanted ornithopters aloft directly over the Fallaji procession as it moved south, but the Fallaji bridled at this, making their displeasure known through the seneschal. For several days, Tawnos was sure that negotiations would break down over this point, but Urza at last relented. There would, however, be a
regular cavalry escort while the Fallaji were in Yotian territory.

  Urza also took pains to review all the pilots of the ornithopters at the capital, in some cases interviewing the young men himself. Tawnos accompanied the Chief Artificer on several of these interviews, though he was puzzled by Urza’s action—most of the pilots were handpicked and trained by Urza in the first place and were intensely loyal to the Prince Consort.

  As Urza talked to them, though, Tawnos saw what the artificer was worried about. Loyalty was not an issue; it was assumed, and indeed, Urza was considered halfway between a legend and a saint by his pilots. His questions focused on how the pilots felt about the Fallaji, about the desert, about the long-running battles they had been fighting. He was, Tawnos realized, looking into their temperaments, trying to discern if any would, accidentally or purposefully, attempt to finish the job the warlord had started. He was examining them as if they were just another component in a larger device, checking them for signs of wear and tear.

  Indeed, there were two individuals who confessed a hatred of the Fallaji, and one who promised his loyalty even when he disagreed with diplomacy. Urza relocated these young men to other flights and replaced them with more even-tempered individuals.

  In considering Urza’s actions, Tawnos realized the Chief Artificer had been caught by surprise once before and did not want to repeat the mistake a second time. With a precision that the apprentice had previously seen the Chief Artificer dedicate to his inventions, Urza investigated every unit stationed at the capital. He knew every merchant who had claimed injury from the Fallaji. And, Tawnos knew, Urza had walked every inch of the walls that flanked three sides of Kroog, and along every inch of the shore of the Mardun, which served as the fourth protective barrier for the city.

  Still, the older man had little hope for the negotiations, and said as much to Tawnos. The qadir wanted nothing less than the land that Kayla’s late father had conquered, he reiterated, and she would not give it up.