The Brothers' War

by Jeff Grubb

  There was the shadow of a cough, so quiet none would normally hear it. Drafna looked at his wife, who cleared her throat again. Feldon raised an eyebrow, and the archimandrite kept her face a passionless mask. Drafna scowled.

  “I meant to say, we shall see,” said Drafna, shooting a glare at the other scholar of Lat-Nam. “I have reservations, but we will make all our resources and knowledge available.” He took a deep breath and laced his pudgy fingers together. “After all, we might learn something as well.”

  The archimandrite turned to Loran. “And you, Loran of Penregon. Will you join our union?”

  Loran sat silent for a moment. She had come seeking knowledge, but was it knowledge that might be used against either of the brothers? Didn’t she owe Urza and Mishra more than that? Could she turn over copies of Tocasia’s notes to people who, even with the intention of defending themselves, would search them for a way to defeat the brothers?

  She thought of the ever-growing mines and factories that filled her homeland, and of the other noble families that seemed determined to declare Urza their patron saint. Of the Fallaji who seemed to have deified Mishra. Would Tocasia want either man to use the knowledge she had taught him in that fashion?

  Loran took a deep breath, like a diver about to plunge off the pier. “Yes,” she said at last. “I will join you.”

  “How can you stand these collars?” asked Tawnos, tugging at the starched fabric around his neck.

  “I can’t,” replied Urza. “When I was a child, I hated any ceremony that forced me to dress up. I think it’s one reason religion fell out of favor among the nobility: it was too uncomfortable to dress for.”

  Both men wore stiff cotton shirts with even stiffer woolen jackets accompanied by heavy woolen pants. Each garment was ironed with knife-edge folds. Leather boots, new and shined to an incandescent glow, were equally unwieldy. To Tawnos they felt more like lead weights than footwear. The ceremonial gear was mandated by the most august of ceremonies in which they were about to take part. Tawnos wondered if they could just send the outfits and stay home themselves.

  Reflecting, Tawnos thought the pair had gotten off lucky. There were costumes and ceremonial uniforms among the gentry that reminded him of a ship under full sail, so festooned were they with ribbons, banners, and medals. But Argive had never had a Lord High Artificer and Protector of the Realms before, nor a Master Scholar. As a result both men were shielded from the worst of past pageantry.

  Tawnos had always heard the Argivians were a dour, serious people. Even the way they treated such a celebration was further proof, he thought. Never had he seen so many people dead set on enjoying themselves. They were single-minded—even grim—in their pursuit of pleasure. The past month had shown that beyond a doubt.

  There had been celebrations beyond measure in Penregon. First a royal wedding between the young crown prince of Argive and the granddaughter of the redoubtable lord of Korlis. Then the official notice of abdication of the venerable (if weak) Argivian king in favor of the crown prince and his new bride. Then there was the official recognition of the combined kingdoms of Argive and Korlis (though Korlis was effectively subsumed politically into Argive). And now came the final act: recognition of Urza as Lord High Artificer and Protector of the Realm of the combined kingdoms.

  The nobles of Argive were behind it all. They had been feuding with their crown for years. The king (now referred to as the Old King) advocated a policy of containment and appeasement of the desert tribes. That policy had been destroyed with Kroog, along with whatever power the king still held. The nobles were behind the royal marriage, along with the merchants of Korlis. They were no doubt instrumental as well in convincing the Argivian king to relinquish his crown. Tawnos knew for a fact that the nobles had pressed Urza to accept the scepter and miter of the Lord Protector of the Realms.

  What Tawnos did not understand is why Urza had accepted the position. When Tawnos put the question to him, the artificer offered a weak excuse; at least it seemed weak to Tawnos.

  “In Yotia,” said Urza, “the warlord let me build my devices, but I had little control over their use and never sufficient resources to develop them properly, even as Chief Artificer. Now, as Lord Protector, I can control the use of my devices and will have full access to sufficient resources.”

  “I’m not sure about the nature of that control,” returned Tawnos. “From what I’ve seen, even leaders are driven by events and situations beyond their control. That includes the will of the masses. Already there are those who call to retake Yotia.”

  “That may well yet happen,” said Urza, “but it will occur with a mechanized force, one filled with avengers, mechanical soldiers, and the new sentinels we’re designing.”

  “It may happen before we have a chance to finish the work,” said Tawnos. “In fact this new position may bring you under new pressure to launch an attack.”

  Urza ground his palms together slowly. At last he shrugged. “You may be right, my former student.”

  “Then why accept the miter and scepter?” demanded Tawnos.

  “I have another reason,” said Urza, and closed his mouth firmly.

  Tawnos wanted to press Urza about what such a reason could be, when the door to the room flew open. A small metal bird fluttered into the room, chased by young Harbin. The seven year old laughed and lunged at the small bird, which dodged his blows effortlessly and circled the room.

  Tawnos whistled a short tune, and the bird came to rest on the mantelpiece. The boy also quieted immediately, suddenly aware of the others in the room. “Uncle Tawnos,” he said with a smile. Then his face turned stern. “Father, I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  Urza smiled gently and said, “No interruption.” He looked at the bird. “One of yours?” he asked Tawnos.

  Tawnos shrugged. “A small distraction, using some of the ideas we’ve been working with. It avoids the boy’s blows because it detects the air moving in front of his hands, much as an insect would. He can catch it if he moves slowly, but I have never seen a young boy who had that much patience.”

  Urza nodded. “Yotians may have many souls, but at your core you are still a toy maker.”

  Lady Kayla, Queen-in-Exile of Yotia, had entered behind the boy, while a servant carrying her cloak remained outside. “Harbin! You know better than to disturb your father and Tawnos!”

  Urza allowed himself another gentle smile and said again, “No interruption. On a day like this, it would be hard to get any real work done anyway. Come in, and let us toast our good fortune.”

  Tawnos turned to pick up an oversized “elephant” bottle of red wine, a gift of the nobles. The Argivians liked their wines bloodred and furniture-polish bitter. Urza fetched two goblets, one for each of the other adults, and his own chalice. The last had been Urza’s own handiwork. He had converted the central pump that had worked the last of Tocasia’s onulets, a beast now as mythological in Argive as minotaurs and rocs.

  Tawnos poured a small amount for himself and for Kayla and a more generous helping for Urza.

  Urza raised his chalice in a toast. “We have passed through fire over the past few years, and that has tempered us. Now the fires grow hotter still, but we are stronger, and we are proof against the flame. To Argive and Korlis!”

  “To the memory of Yotia!” said Kayla.

  “To the new Lord High Artificer and Lord Protector of the Realms!” said Tawnos.

  “To the new Chief Scholar!” replied Urza, and metal clanked between them. Urza drained his cup and said, “We had best be moving along. If we are late, the Argivians will make being late part of every ceremony from here until doomsday!”

  Urza started for the door, then paused. He whistled a small tune, identical to the one Tawnos had used minutes before. The mechanical bird unfurled its wings and sailed off the mantelpiece. Harbin swatted at it but missed, and the bird fluttered around the room, dodging the young boy’s best-aimed shots.

  * * *

  —

 
; The ceremony itself was typical of all Argivian ceremonies: long-winded and stifling. Tawnos had thought he would not survive the wedding earlier in the month, but this was infinitely worse, for he and Urza were at the center of the activity. There was no chance to sneak out when you were on the podium with all eyes on you.

  The Great Hall had once been a cathedral to a god now forgotten and out of fashion. It was packed with all manner of Argivian nobles, clad in finery that swelled their forms to twice their size. In addition the incense used in the hall was overwhelmed by the clashing odors of perfume worn by the Argivian women (and some of the men). Tawnos wondered if he could afford to sneeze in his tight outfit, and his eyes watered.

  The Argivians bothered Tawnos, and the nobles worst of all. Owing to the former apprentice’s Yotian origin, most tended to treat him like some rustic relative. He always felt he was out of place in Kroog, a boy from the coastal provinces in the big city. At least, though, in Kroog he was among Yotians. Many of the Argivians seemed to assume that all Yotians had trouble with the language. They spoke slowly and loudly to him.

  Worse still were those Argivians who acted as if he were still no more than Urza’s apprentice. Occasionally they did not address him at all in the Lord High Artificer’s presence, as if he were no more than a hanger-on, a dogsbody, a servant to Urza. Even when the artificer made sure to mention Tawnos’s inventions, such as the triskelion, a mobile fortification, the eyes of the nobles glazed over and Tawnos could almost hear their ears clicking off.

  No, thought Tawnos, worst of all were the stiff collars. He reached for his but halted his fingers in time. It would be just like a rural bumpkin to pull at his neckline in the middle of a ceremony.

  The ritual was interminable. There was a presentation of honors; a recognition of foreign delegations; a recognition of important nobles that was effectively a roll call for the entire cathedral; a platitude by the Chamberlain of Argive that was longer than most sermons. This was followed by a listing of good things that had happened of late, which were (truly or otherwise) ascribed to the efforts of Urza and his faithful assistant, Tawnos.

  The tawny-haired man’s position on the podium gave him a chance to sweep the crowd with his eyes and pick out faces. Kayla and Harbin in the front row. She seemed nearly wilted in her gown but was still game, while the boy had surrendered to boredom a half-hour back and was now kicking the sides of the pew in a desultory fashion. The apprentices were led by Richlau the schoolmaster, the senior students Rendall and Sanwell at his side. Sharaman was in full military harness and looking almost comfortable in his dress uniform.

  There were others: Argivian noblewomen in full regalia, and young courtiers vying with them for flashiness. Korlisian merchant lords, more restrained, but still bedecked in the most sumptuous of fashions. There were dwarven diplomats from the Sardian Mountains, a dour group of diminutive people who made the Argivians look positively festive and the Korlisians evenhanded. Their mountains held much of the resources that Urza needed, but they were willing to trade their metals and stones for gold, which Urza considered a minor metal of little real value in the battlefield.

  There were Yotians present, dressed colorfully but simply. They were refugees who had fled to Argive after the fall and represented some of the most powerful families in the region, yet next to the Argivians they seemed like poor relations.

  There were also others of whose identity Tawnos was unsure. There were a band of fur-wearing barbarians from Malpiri, and a group of priests, black-robed savants with mechanical devices hung around their necks. Gixians, Tawnos reminded himself, from a monastery far to the northwest. Urza had received an offer from them to aid in his studies, but Tawnos found them too fanatical in their devotion to the machines themselves. They treated even the ornithopters as if they were living creatures. It made Tawnos nervous, and he avoided them, as did most of the rest of the populace, who had no time for gods of any stripe.

  The chamberlain’s invocation ground to a close, and he was replaced by the lord of Korlis, whose voice was slightly more pleasant but who seemed intent on showing everyone that her nation could be just as long-winded as the Argivians. She spoke of the recent events, of the erecting of the defensive towers along the borders of both Korlis and Argive, and of the continual ornithopter patrols that kept them safe from the Fallaji devils.

  It was more than just Urza’s devices that kept them safe for the moment, Tawnos thought. Word had reached Penregon that Mishra had plundered most of Yotia and drained Zegon as well, and was looking for new supply sources. Apparently the attempts to fold Sarinth, far to the west, into the Fallaji empire had not gone well, and a huge force had settled there to besiege the principal cities. Instead of gaining needed resources, Mishra had succeeded in opening another front. Should he continue in this fashion, Urza’s brother would soon surround himself with enemies.

  Of course the situation was not lost on the Argivian nobles, nor on the Korlisian merchants who wanted to reopen their precious trade routes. Now was the time, they said, to press the advantage. Now was the time to retake Yotia. Now was the time to put Mishra in his place.

  Urza had surprised Tawnos with his response to the noble demands. In Yotia he retreated to his orniary and let others do the talking and planning. Now he met with the nobles and the merchant lords whenever possible and never shirked from showing them some new device or implementation. They, in turn, had opened their vaults to him, allowing him access to power stones, land, and other resources needed to build.

  Tawnos thought he knew Urza’s plan. The artificer would continue to build his avengers, ornithopters, sentinels, and soldiers until he had more than any dragon engine could best. Only then would he move against his brother.

  Tawnos hoped Urza would have time to carry out his plan. Given the enthusiasm of the Argivians and the greed of the Korlisians, he was not sure.

  The lord of Korlis finally surrendered the podium, and his young majesty presented the titles. Urza knelt (a feat in itself, considering the stiffness of his costume), and the young king placed the Lord High Artificer’s mitre on Urza’s head. Then he laid the scepter of the Protector of the Realms in Urza’s hands. The crowd burst into applause as Urza rose and recognized their cheers.

  They were quieter for Tawnos, but only slightly. He received the heavy velvet robes (lengthened to cover his large frame) of the Chief Scholar. He knelt as well, and the king placed a golden circlet on his head. Even kneeling, Tawnos was almost as tall as the king and had to bow forward to prevent the Argivian from having to reach up.

  Then the benediction, and Tawnos swore he saw the entire audience shudder to a man as the chamberlain remounted the podium and launched into a rousing screed against the Fallaji devils. That was what was missing, Tawnos thought. There were no Fallaji present, at least none who would announce their heritage. The chamberlain declared Urza to be Lord Protector of all the lands not held by the Fallaji and their allies.

  In other words, all lands not under the rulership of Mishra.

  Finally the ceremony was over, and the people filed out for a ceremonial banquet, which would be dominated by even more lengthy speeches. Every merchant and noble with at least some claim to the title would rise and deliver his own thoughts on the matter.

  Tawnos couldn’t wait.

  Back in his chambers Urza smiled and pulled the miter from his head. It was a heavy thing, and Tawnos had wondered if the older man would fall over from the weight.

  Urza hefted the miter, clearly delighted. Finally Tawnos said, “I’ve never seen you this cheerful when the people praised you in Kroog. Is it the fact that they are your own countrymen that makes you smile?”

  Urza looked up, puzzled for moment. Then he smiled broadly. “You think that is it? That I have become a vain old popinjay, thriving on the adulation of the crowds? Look into my new hat, my former student, and see the truth of the matter.”

  Tawnos moved over and looked over the brim of the upturned miter. Gemstones were sewn in
to the lining of the tall hat. That was why it was so heavy.

  No, not gemstones, Tawnos realized. Power stones, pure and unflawed. There were more than had been in the chest Urza had shown him five years ago.

  Tawnos looked at Urza, and the Lord Protector beamed a warm smile. That was why he had put up with all the pomp and trappings of the ceremony, the Chief Scholar realized. That was why he had endured the speeches and courted the nobles and why, while claiming modesty, had accepted the post of Lord High Artificer.

  All to gain more power. All to gain more resources.

  Urza left the miter in Tawnos’s hands and went to fetch his chalice before the pair left for the interminable banquet. Tawnos shook his head. His former master had not changed at all. His devices were still at the center of his universe.

  Tawnos did not know if that knowledge made him feel better or worse.

  The Brotherhood of Gix summoned their master to Mishra’s workshop.

  The priests did so only because Mishra, the Artifice Qadir of the Fallaji, was going to decamp soon, moving westward to the caravan city of Tomakul. The Sarinthian front had expanded into a full-fledged war, and Mishra needed to be closer to action. Already manpower had been stripped from occupied Yotia, and troops were making the long trek north and west to the wooded shores of Ronom Lake

  The Gixians knew of these decisions, for they had infiltrated most of the daily workings of the workshop and the surrounding factories. Over the past few years they had become a regular part of Mishra’s court and were for the most part tolerated. They had spun that tolerance into a web of information. Little came to Mishra’s factory that did not reach the Gixians’ ears and, through them, their master’s.

  The mines were mostly tapped out now, said the reports from Yotia, and entire mountains were being stripped away for any resources they could provide. Similarly, the tribute of men and supplies from Zegon was drying up. Far-off Almaaz had bought its own protection by sharing its mystic song mages, but Mishra was now depending on that nation for iron and lumber as well.