by Jeff Grubb
Ashnod said, “Master Mishra, I think I can help.”
Mishra turned to her. “You can rebuild the dying engine?”
Ashnod looked at the carcass of the original dragon engine. It looked like carrion, picked apart by beetles. She shook her head. “Your own plans proceed apace. Allow me to return to my own studies, and I can give you weapons to defeat your brother.”
“I need you to oversee the plundering of Yotia,” said Mishra. “Only you know what is valuable and what is dross.”
Ashnod shook her head. “Much of what is valuable from Yotia has already been taken, or can be demanded as tribute, or has been pirated away to Korlis. You don’t need me to scavenge, milord. You need me to think. To help you build.”
Mishra thought a moment, and Ashnod continued, “I have had time to think of matters, both in my forced rest as a guest of Kroog and later, seeking books and information for you. I believe that I can wrap a machine around a spark of life. I believe I can merge the living and unliving together. I can give you the army to defeat Urza.”
Mishra rocked slightly back and forth, then shook his head. “I need you to be my eyes, my ears beyond these walls. There is much I need to have done, and so few, like you and Hajar here, who I trust to do it.”
Ashnod tilted her head to one side and said, “A pity. Urza would trust Tawnos with such a matter. Indeed, it was Tawnos the Student who distracted you with that fleeing ornithopter, for Urza the Master had trained him well. Are you saying that Urza is a better master than you are?”
A red storm of rage formed on Mishra’s face, and for a moment Ashnod wondered if she had pressed too far. But Mishra took a deep breath, and the anger subsided slightly. Sharply, he said, “What do you need to produce such an army?”
Ashnod kept her gaze level, as if she had anticipated this request. “My own lab, away from prying eyes.” She nodded in mock reverence to Hajar. “Most of the books on biology and anatomy from the plundered libraries. A portion of the resources sent as tribute. Surgical tools from Zegon. And slaves. Both skilled ones—smiths and glass-blowers—and ones that no one will care if they are lost.”
Mishra was silent for a moment. “Will criminals do?” he said.
Ashnod nodded sternly. “Criminals, traitors, revolutionaries, deserters, those whose disappearance will not be mourned. What I am thinking would be distasteful to some” —she nodded at Hajar again—“but necessary for us to build an army to defeat your brother. That is one reason I would want to keep the encampment a secret.”
Mishra paused for a moment, then said, “Do it.”
“I cannot promise results today,” said Ashnod quickly, “or tomorrow or the next. But with my research and your rebuilt dragon engines, we can hunt down your brother and destroy him, wherever he hides.”
“My brother does not—” Mishra stopped himself, then nodded. “Take what you need. Send me reports. I want to know what you’re doing. And make it quick. My brother will not lie waiting for his chance forever.”
Ashnod added, “You should know what I propose to do. It is not a gentle process.”
Mishra said, “These are not gentle times. And we are not a gentle people. Do what you must, but give me the weapons that I need. Do what you must.”
Ashnod bowed low, and Mishra spun on his heels, retreating back up the hillside to his warped workshop. Hajar, his silent ghost, followed in his wake. After they returned to closed doors, Ashnod thought, the Fallaji assistant would counsel his qadir against trusting the scarlet-haired woman. Or he would commend the qadir on his wisdom and be relieved that the woman would no longer be a regular participant in Mishra’s court.
It mattered not to Ashnod. She waited until both figures were out of sight, then she allowed a slow smile to spread across her face. She had gotten what she wanted—her own shop and the freedom to pursue her own studies.
And she had learned something else. Whatever else Mishra was, he was afraid. Afraid of his brother. Afraid of being punished for stealing his brother’s woman, for destroying his brother’s house, for breaking his brother’s toys. It was a useful tool to use in dealing with the new qadir, but one she had to be careful not to blunt with overuse.
“Speak the magic word and the gates to the treasure swing open,” she said to herself, thinking of an old Fallaji legend. “And the secret word is Urza.”
She watched the ants scuttle over the two dragon engine carcasses, stripping one to provide life for the other. Then she returned to her own quarters to finalize her plans for the future.
It was three years after the fall of Kroog that Tawnos finally rejoined Urza in the most southwesterly of the Argivian provinces. They were hard years, and their toll showed on the apprentice’s face: years of running and hiding, of flight and patience, of work and abandoned work.
Kayla was with him, and Harbin, her son, born in the midst of a monsoon outside Jorilin and now two and a half. They were also accompanied by two animated statues Tawnos had created during that horrible, second winter, when Fallaji slave-taking patrols had forced them to flee into the Kher Ridges.
They had finally made their way into Korlis itself, but even then they did not believe they were safe. The Korlisians were still trading with the Fallaji, and though they were negotiating with the Argivians on a pact of mutual protection from the desert raiders, Kayla wondered if the fugitives would be turned over to Mishra’s representatives as a sign of the merchants’ good will.
They traveled in secret, and mostly at night. They did not give their real names, though there were enough who recognized Kayla’s profile, particularly in the Yotian coastal towns, to provide needed aid. It was that very recognition, and the threat of exposure it brought, that convinced the former queen to head north and east, toward Argive and sanctuary. When word finally reached them that, yes, Urza was in Argive near the Korlisian border, the three—accompanied by their two artificial protectors—made their way to Urza’s Tower.
This was more easily proposed than accomplished. Urza had selected a site far from towns or villages, hard on the flanks of the Kher Ridges themselves. The vale of his tower was cloaked in a continual fog, fed by mountain streams cascading to the valley floor around it. To a casual observer, it was a shadowed mountain glen, similar to hundreds of others along the western borders of Korlis and Argive. But this vale curved and extended slightly to the north, and in that northern pocket, hidden by the mists, Urza built his sanctuary.
Out of those mists came five murky figures, a man on horseback, a woman and a boy on a sturdy pony, and two silent statues tirelessly keeping pace.
The tower itself was made of white stone and topped by a golden cupola. It looked slender and lonely, flanked by the valley walls themselves. Kayla noted that there was no sign of activity about the place. She commented that it looked as if it had been abandoned.
Tawnos agreed. In the old days, in Yotia, there would have been ornithopter patrols continually in the air over such an important site. Indeed, were it not for a loyal Yotian expatriate found in a nearby town two days previous, they would have missed the tower entirely.
The child, Harbin, squealed and twisted in his place in front of his mother. The misty air was a delight for the child, and he kept trying to reach out and grab a handful of it. Tawnos tried explaining that air could not be caught, at least not with one’s hands. The boy listened, stern-faced, nodded in agreement, and attempted to grapple with the air the moment Tawnos’s back was turned.
Tawnos pulled up his mount a hundred paces from the tower. The place was silent as a tombstone. Where were the protections? Had Urza truly abandoned this tower, or had they already been spotted? But if the latter, why was there no welcome?
There was a movement to Tawnos’s right, and he suddenly wheeled the horse in place. Out of the mountain shadows came the reflection of light on metal and a curious low chirping sound.
A figure stepped into view, followed by a second, and a third. They were a cross between men and metallic insects, t
heir long, antlike heads perched on spindly necks. They looked as if they were wearing metallic armor pitted by flecks of rust. Then Tawnos realized this armor housed their bodies. Beneath the plates the apprentice could see the mechanisms and levers clatter, forcing the creatures to move forward. Their knees bent backward, like the avengers, though these constructs were barely as tall as a man’s shoulder.
They were armed with heavy cleavers mounted on poles, which they brandished at the travelers. The machines were silent; the chirping was nothing more than the wear of metal on metal, of pulleys hissing from cables running through their loops, and of brass trip switches setting and re-setting.
Tawnos heard a strangled cry and looked toward Kayla. There were another three on her side of the road, similarly armed and armored. The two groups were converging on the travelers.
Tawnos barked a command at the statues, one of the five they understood, and spurred his mount forward, shouting for Kayla to follow. The horse, a weathered old beast, whickered a complaint and moved forward slowly.
Equally slowly the two clay statues turned toward their assailants. Each had been taught to recognize weapons and to attack those bearing them. The number of targets confused the statues for a moment. Then each statue chose a wing of the assailants.
What followed was a silent battle, one without shouts or cries. The clay statues were armed only with their fists, but they were huge, hamhanded fists, with a great deal of power behind them. The metal automatons were quick, and with their weapons had a reach the statues lacked. A deadly ballet ensued, punctuated by the ring of hard blows landed on armor and the soft chopping noise of blades digging into earthen flesh.
The two lead automatons of each wing got too close to the statues and were rewarded with hammer blows to the face. One dodged, but the other caught the blow head-on. Its spindly neck snapped, and the head fell across the creature’s back, still held by a tangle of loose wires. The rest of the body did not recognize the loss but still flailed at the clay opponent with its chopping blade.
The blades dug deep, but the clay closed up as soon as the blades cut through it, like soft dough incised by a bread knife. One of the chopping blades got hopelessly mired in the clay creature, and the statue reached out and grasped the automaton’s head. It squeezed, and bits of automaton became permanently lodged in the statue’s huge hand as it shattered the creature’s skull.
Two of the automatons fell back, then counterattacked as one. The clay statue raised an arm to ward off the blow, and both attempted to chop at the same arm. The first blade cut deep, and the second deeper still. There was the dull ring of metal on metal and a snapping noise as the second automaton cut through a metal bone at the heart of the clay statue’s arm. The statue raised that arm, but most of the clay was sloughing off of it now, revealing a thin metal framework beneath.
While the automatons and statues battled, Tawnos and Kayla rode for the tower. If Urza was there, then these would be his creations, and he could call them off. If he was absent, the tower might provide some sanctuary until the clay statues had defeated their foes.
Tawnos shouted at the tower and saw movement along the upper battlement. A tall, familiar figure raised a whistle to his lips.
There was the short piping of three notes, and Tawnos turned in his saddle to see the automatons had ceased their attacks. Unfortunately, the clay statues still saw them as threats, and one snapped off another neck before Tawnos shouted the word for them to stand down. The clay statues halted as well, one in mid-punch.
Tawnos looked up, but the figure was gone from the battlements. The front door opened and a second figure emerged.
This was not Urza, but he had the leanness of the Chief Artificer, and Tawnos wondered if he had been mistaken about the figure seen above. This man was dressed in the uniform of a Yotian officer—a flier, by the looks of the shadows where patches and insignia once hung. He was a lieutenant, or had been, back when the Yotians had an armed force.
The figure dropped to one knee before the mounted figures. “Your majesty,” he said to the queen. “Goodsir Tawnos. The artificer bids you welcome to his tower. If he had known you were coming, he would have deactivated the guards. I am Sharaman. Please enter and make yourself welcome.”
He went to Kayla’s horse to help her dismount and instead received a handful of young Harbin. The former lieutenant looked as if he had been handed a bag of live snakes and quickly (but gently) put the sandy-haired child down while Kayla dismounted.
The lad ignored his brusque treatment but instead craned his head up toward the battlements. Tawnos looked up and saw the flicker of the familiar figure of the Chief Artificer as Urza moved back into the shadows of the balcony doorway. Then the slender figure was gone entirely.
Tawnos dismounted as Sharaman said, “If you will follow me. I am to make you welcome and to escort you to the artificer.”
Kayla said, “That will be fine.”
Sharaman paused and then said, “Your Majesty, I apologize. I was instructed to make both of you welcome but to bring Goodsir Tawnos to Master Urza. I hope this is not a problem.”
Kayla and Tawnos looked at each other. Tawnos had been sure Urza would wish to see his wife first, after all these years. Now there was a tightness to the queen’s lips, and she nodded her agreement.
Sharaman put the queen and Harbin in an austere waiting room on the lower floor, informing them he would return with drinks and sugar wafers. This endeared him immediately to Harbin, who squealed as Kayla gave her assent. The former lieutenant took Tawnos up several sets of stairs.
“How is he?” asked Tawnos at one landing.
“He is,” said Sharaman briefly. “He’s been through a lot.”
As have we all, thought Tawnos, but he said nothing as Sharaman pushed open the final door and stood aside for Tawnos to enter.
The apprentice stepped into Urza’s study, and Sharaman closed the door softly behind him. The room was tasteful and tidy, verging on severe. A thin rug partially covered the wooden floor, and several tilted drawing boards stood near the windows, all covered with plans in various stages of development. A ball-and-socket joint, carved of yarrow wood, lay on a small worktable, next to an open book.
Urza himself was at the balcony, his back to Tawnos, looking out over the foggy vale and the remains of the earlier battle. His hands were clasped behind him. Tawnos waited. At last Urza let out a great sigh and turned toward Tawnos.
“I had expected a message, first,” the older man said.
Tawnos saw the lines on Urza’s face, a small collection at the corner of each eye. His eyes seemed deeper as well, more sunken in their sockets, and his hair was turning fully to the shade of spun white gold. He wore his work smock, but it was clean and well pressed.
Tawnos said, “Messages can be intercepted, sir. And we were not sure of your location until we passed the Argivian border.”
Urza nodded offhandedly and took another deep breath. Then he forced a smile. “It is good to see that you are alive. I worried when there was no news.”
“We spent longer than we should have in Yotia,” said Tawnos.
“Yes,” said Urza, pressing his palms together and twisting them slowly. “I suppose you had to. Look on my desk, would you? On the book holder there.”
Tawnos walked over to the desk. “The Jalum Tome,” he said at last.
“The Jalum Tome,” repeated Urza. “You succeeded, Tawnos. All the knowledge you loaded into that ornithopter. Young Rendall made it to Argive, and everything was waiting for me when I finally got to Penregon. Most of my work, and our papers. There was some loss, but nothing that could not be recouped. One student packed a list of laundry to be picked up, thinking it was an important paper, but under the circumstances it was a brilliant move.” Urza looked at Tawnos. “Thank you.”
“It was my responsibility,” said Tawnos bowing slightly.
“And more than adequately discharged,” said Urza. “Those statues you brought with you. Very impre
ssive.”
“Clay over a framework of wicker and metal,” replied Tawnos.
“That is more than just clay,” said Urza. “It seemed to shrug off the blows of my own soldiers.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tawnos, wondering why they were speaking of such matters while Kayla was still waiting. “It was from a deposit we found when we—when Her Majesty and I—were hiding in the mountains. It had the property of flowing and rejoining when cut. At first I thought it might contain something similar to the Thran Stones, but now I am not sure. If I could locate the primal nature of this earth, we could make wonderful creations.”
“Yes,” said Urza, and suddenly pointed toward a corner of his workshop. “That chest. Look inside.”
Tawnos looked quizzically at the older artificer, but did as he asked. When Tawnos opened the coffer, he was nearly blinded by the light of the stones within.
“Power stones,” he said.
“Aye,” said Urza, pride in his voice.
“I’ve never seen this many in one place,” remarked the apprentice.
“Aye,” repeated Urza. “While we were doing the best we could with what we had in Kroog, the Argivian nobles have been collecting them for over forty years. There’s much more than that, more than enough to power any number of devices. That’s what the Yotian soldiers operate off of.”
“Yotian?” said Tawnos, a small stab of pain in his voice.
Urza held up his hands. “A small conceit. My guards. They’re smaller than the avengers and easier to produce. I call them Yotian soldiers because they will, I hope, prevent Yotia’s fate from visiting Argive and Korlis. An old friend once told me there was power in names. And perhaps…” Urza let his voice trail off.
“Perhaps that will take back Yotia for the queen,” said Tawnos.
“For the Yotian people,” said Urza quickly. “For the people who trusted me and whom I delivered into my brother’s hands.”
“Your brother has his hands full of them at the moment,” said Tawnos. Urza did not reply. “I understand he leads the Fallaji, now.”
