Key to Magic 04 Emperor

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  "I've lived my entire life on luck, for the most part," Mar told him without rancor. "Luck kept me from starving. Luck kept me from falling into the hands of the fagins or the gangs. I've come within a hair of being caught by the Viceroy's Guard a hundred times and gotten away. But sooner or later luck runs out for everyone, just as mine did. If it hadn't been here it would have been somewhere else. If it hadn't been the Guard it would have been the Phaelle'n or some unnamed assassin. But I survived and I'm not going to stop living my life the way I want to live it or doing the things I need to do. The Brotherhood won't stop just because I have no legs and just one hand."

  Without waiting for a response, he flew across the cabin and out the door. The marines and legionnaires, most of them known to him by name, came to attention and saluted as he whisked by. He acknowledged them with a wave and moved down the central corridor and out onto the deck.

  By this time, the day had come full on, but instead of the crisp early sun that he had hoped for, a soothing warmth to ease the aches in his body, the sky was heavily overcast. A thick wave of darker clouds, red-tinged by the climbing sun and peppered with the frequent flash of lightning, intruded from the northwest. A light but steady cold cool wind came from that direction. Having watched from rooftops as weather blew into Khalar a thousand times, he had a well-trained sense of the progression of storms across the Imperial City, and by his estimate the rain would close in little over half an hour.

  Wloblh was at the bow, sitting in what appeared to be a rocking chair and reading a book held on his knees. He looked up and nodded as Mar emerged, but did not get up. A young legate and an older ceannaire were on the steerage platform with him, keeping close watch to port and starboard. Mar stopped in the middle of the open deck. With inclement weather approaching, his tour of the city -- just an excuse to escape the confines of his sick room -- would have to wait.

  Mhiskva, Ulor, and Berhl followed him out. Whether by command or choice, Aunt Whelsi, the other Gaaelfharenii, and the armsmen had all dispersed below decks. Berhl's suggestion of a parade for the sake of the morale of the crew had clearly been abandoned.

  "We should probably ground the skyships ahead of the weather," Mar mentioned. He rotated slowly, climbing a manheight or so to get a better view as he picked out the other skyships and sorted out their locations. Below him and Number Three lay the Blue Fortress. To the east across the river, another vessel held station over the opposite fortress. One trolled above the Old City and three more were making wide circuits above the Lower City.

  He settled back to the Mhajhkaeirii'n officers. "Five skyships?"

  "Aye, my lord king." Mhiskva replied. "The others are Five, Six, Seven, and Eight. Number One continues to sail a picket, screening the city from the north, east, and west."

  "Is there any danger that the Imperials might retake the city?"

  "No, my lord king. Just after we occupied the fortresses, the Khalarii made some half-hearted and more or less uncoordinated moves, but as of the transfer of power on yesterday, all Imperial forces are under our direct command. In your name, I have instructed both the Viceroy's Guard and the Imperial Army units to remain in barracks at their posts."

  "In my name?" Mar questioned.

  "With the unanimous consent of the Assembly of Patriarchs, the Guard and the Army have proclaimed you Emperor."

  Mar thought he should have felt surprised, but he did not. "So I'm now the emperor of Khalar?"

  "Of all the Glorious Empire, my lord king."

  "Which is Khalar."

  "Khalar and Mhajhkaei, my lord king, and by extension all the lands of the Principate. The hill tribes of Bhrisnia will support you as their Chieftain, a title I have held by right of my mother's line and which I submit to you as my own liege lord. I also believe a strong legal argument can be made that the Treaty of Plyyst places an aegis on the Princes of the Sister Cities requiring their obeisance to any lawful liege of the Prince of Mhajhkaei. While Lord Ghorn is confident that the Princes will accept you as King, it seems likely that many of them might be more comfortable with you as Emperor. This would also obviate the need for you to visit each of them personally to receive the Blood Oath. The reconstitution of the Empire of the North, albeit speaking with the benefit of hindsight, is a logical and perhaps essential step in the defeat of the Brotherhood."

  Mar barked a short, unenthusiastic laugh. "You and Lord Ghorn have it all figured out, don't you?"

  "The Prince-Commander has confided in me on numerous occasions, my lord king." Mhiskva gave no indication that he saw any humor in the situation.

  "So where is Lord Ghorn? At the Monolith?"

  "Lord Ghorn departed in the Prince Davfydd -- the former Number Nine -- the day before your capture. We do not expect to hear from him until a scheduled rendezvous near Mhevyr in a month's time. The Monolith is under command of Lord Purhlea with Commander Aerlon acting as his adjutant. We are in direct daily communication with them by means of one of the magical rowboats, piloted by the trainee magicians in rotation. As of yesterday evening, Lord Purhlea reports no contacts with enemy forces or any other significant problems."

  Mar shrugged. King or emperor, it mattered little. He was not a ruler, he was a symbol. When the Phaelle'n were defeated and the Blood Oaths dissipated, the Mhajhkaeirii, the Khalarii, and everyone else would have to find some other fool to play at command.

  He pointed at the pair of brass and wood apparatus bolted to heavy frames at the port and starboard rail and asked Berhl, "Those are your polybolos?"

  "Aye, my lord king."

  "They work?"

  "Aye, my lord king. We test fired one before we departed the Monolith. There is a problem, though."

  "What's that?"

  "If the spheres don't strike something, they still explode when they hit the ground. That would be tough going for any of our armsmen or noncombatants that happened to be near."

  "I'll look into it. How much ammunition do you have?"

  "Enough to fire one of them for almost a minute."

  Mar sighed. "I need to drill some of the others in making spheres."

  "That might be advisable, my lord king."

  "With the all the skyships and pilots here, how is the Monolith being supplied?"

  "The Revenge, Barge Number Three, and both galleys have been reconfigured for sail," the vice-captain responded. "Those four have regular crews and have taken up regular transport missions."

  "What about Barge Number Two?"

  Berhl's lips flattened into a tight line. "Two days after we took the fortresses, we had word that the keel on Barge Number Two broke on its maiden voyage under sail. Master Khlosb'ihs suspects that there was unseen rot in the heart of its center section which gave way under the additional stress. Wloblh's daughter Mrye happened to be watching and has said that she thinks that the fracture allowed some of the magic to escape. The ship lost altitude and steerage, drifted abeam of the wind, and crashed into the side of the Monolith. There was a not large explosion and she caught fire. The wreckage fell to the base of the plateau. There were no survivors."

  For several ponderous moments, Mar looked at the three men. He had a lot more questions, but was not sure that he wanted to ask all of them. He singled out Ulor.

  "Were you able to finish the repairs on Number One?"

  "Aye, my lord king. As soon as the Queen told us that you had been taken --"

  Mar cocked his head in surprise. "How did she know that?"

  "She said she had a vision, my lord king."

  It took Mar a moment to digest that. "Alright. Tell me the whole story."

  With succinct statements, Ulor -- at least from his perspective -- described the course of events.

  After Mar had left the warehouse, Ulor had returned to his normal duties: inspecting the guard details, calculating the progress on the repairs, climbing to the roof to take a look at the city, then making the same rounds again. About midday, he had lunched with his wife and extended family, then sought out Master
Thyrael to secure an update. Approximately mid-afternoon, Ulor had been discussing the order of their defense with Quaestor Eishtren and Legate Rhel, when the Queen approached and calmly informed them that she had had a vision and that the King had been arrested by the Viceroy's Guard.

  "Just like that?" Mar queried, frowning as his puzzlement grew. "'I have had a vision and the King has been arrested by the Viceroy's Guard?'"

  Telriy had not spoken to him of any capacity to divine the future and he wondered if this were some newly acquired magical ability or one that she had possessed all along, being reminded once again that the woman whose bed he shared still kept secrets.

  "Aye, my lord king. Her exact words were, 'I have seen in a dream that the Guard has caught Mar finally. They'll kill him if we don't get him free.'"

  Immediately, Ulor and the other Mhajhkaeirii officers had set to, preparing to evacuate the warehouse. Master Thyrael, apprised of the abrupt need for urgency without being told the details, inspired his crew to redoubled efforts and the skyship had been deemed skyworthy only an hour after sunset. While the Queen and Number One had canvassed the city to determine the King's location, Ulor and Legate Rhel had been dispatched in the rowboat to summon aide from the Monolith.

  "Was there much commotion when Telriy took Number One out of the warehouse?" Mar questioned, imagining a general panic in the neighborhood.

  "No, my lord king. We made no lights and the plaza was clear save for a few strolling couples and urchins playing tag. We climbed immediately as we cleared the doors. All of those about fled or took shelter, but otherwise there was no alarm. By the time we made cruising altitude, it was full dark and I'd say that the skyship was effectively concealed."

  Mhiskva intervened then to supply a brief summary of his diversion of his raiding force to Khalar, mentioning that Ulor and Rhel had arrived just moments before his own scheduled departure.

  "How did Telriy find me?"

  "That I don't know, my lord king," Ulor replied. "After Legate Rhel and I returned, she continued to weave a search pattern above Khalar, but it didn't seem to me that she could detect you. But early the next day, without any warning at all, she drove Number One at speed directly to the execution yard."

  Feeling suddenly that he had more than enough information to process for one day, Mar told Mhiskva, "The wind has picked up. The rain will be here in half an hour or less. Let's signal the other skyships to moor."

  Mhiskva saluted. "Aye, my lord king."

  As Ulor doubled to fetch signal flags, Mar wandered to the starboard rail. Mhiskva and Berhl, apparently correctly interpreting his mood, did not follow.

  His memories of his crucifixion were fuzzy and incomplete, and the days immediately after more or less blank. While Mhiskva, Berhl, and Ulor's explanations had covered what seemed to be all the key facts, he still had profound questions.

  One thing, though, was indisputably clear: whether by dumb luck or simple stupidity, he had succeeding in changing his future.

  The vision of the Moon Pool had not shown him a cripple.

  EIGHT

  142nd Year of the Reign of the City

  (Fourteenthday, Waning, 1st Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)

  Above Gealkaei, capital of the Princedom of Gealollh

  Heldhaen watched Lord Ghorn, his marines, and the Gealkaeirii functionaries descend into the tower. Her left elbow, the one that always twanged when someone was lying to her, prodded her with a stabbing pain.

  Scrunching up her face, she told the two young sailors, Nogrlaen and Hyregn, "Something i'n' right about all this,"

  "How's that Grandmother Heldhaen?" Hyregn asked. The crew of the Prince Davfydd had taken up "Grandmother" as her official title and none of them ever referred to her as anything else.

  "My elbow's a hurtin'."

  The two Mhajhkaeirii exchanged glances.

  "Mm not drunk," Heldhaen grumbled. "Leastways, not drunk enough to be seein' things that arn't there."

  "The Princedom of Gealollh had been a staunch ally of Mhajhkaei since the foundation of the Principate," Nogrlaen stated.

  Heldhaen examined the young man with her good eye. "That's what they teach you in school, I'd imagine, but life ought've taught you that staunch allies're the first ones to stab you in the back."

  Hyregn looked thoughtful, showing some doubt. The words of a magician, even one of such insignificant accomplishments, carried considerable weight. "Grandmother Heldhaen, do you think I should go speak to the Prince-Commander?"

  Rubbing her elbow, Heldhaen looked around. Two Gealkaeirii sentries remained atop the tower, but had the glazed looks indicative of mind-numbing boredom. The rest of the palace looked equally unthreatening, a centuries old stone fortress remodeled in modern times with spacious windows, extensive galleries, and decorative frills to the point where it was likely indefensible. Holding station two hundred armlengths out and a score manheight higher over the modest urbanity of Gealkaei, the Prince Davfydd appeared thoroughly secure and unassailable. The skyship was well out of bowshot range and she knew that no ordinary war machine could launch high enough to strike it.

  She slowly shook her head. "No, I suppose not. Might just be a change of weather coming, makin' m'ol bones swell. What with this bein' all diplomatic and all, we'd best just do as we've been given orders and wait."

  Puttering about the launch for several moments as she fretted internally, still nagged by her elbow, Heldhaen finally settled on a bench to wait. The two sailors took to debating where might be the best place to have a mug in Gealkaei and tried to pick out likely ale houses and inns. Hyregn professed to prefer a dedicated establishment for drinking while Nogrlaen contended that a man could get a better brew where he could also purchase a meal.

  Listening to their idle chatter, she allowed herself to relax somewhat, taking comfort in the thought that her elbow had been wrong at least a couple of times in the past. The sun was bright in a clear sky and though a cooling breeze pushed out of the west, she found the contrast quite pleasant. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let the light sink into her skin, the warmth helping to make her forget all the years and trouble that she had seen.

  A good while later, her elbow jumped as if she had been stabbed, and she bounded up from a half-doze, making a raw, gasping sound.

  "Are you ill, Grandmother Heldhaen?" Nogrlaen asked with concern.

  The first blare of light and sound accompanied a cerulean bolt of magic that even Heldhaen could sense. It surged from a gallery on the side of the palace's main building and chopped the Prince Davfydd in half. The bow and stern of the ruptured ship spiraled in opposite directions, sails, masts, and timbers burning. Another bolt, coming barely an instant later, destroyed the stern section and scattered its smoldering fragments all across the town.

  Heldhaen screamed a startled curse just as a third bolt disintegrated the bow section.

  "Hold on!" she shouted, focusing inward in panicked haste to drive the launch up and away from the tower. The sailors hurled themselves to the deck as the launch began to jump and lurch, shuddering as her control of its driving flux came and went erratically.

  A bolt flashed across the launch's bow, and she banked to port to avoid it. Two more seared the air in rapid succession, both barely missing. She hooked the launch sharply and succeeded in evading the next bolt but when she whipped her head about to try to identify the perpetrator of the attack, she saw that the maneuver had thrown the craft directly into the path of the following one.

  "Fornicatin' Gods," she mumbled dispassionately.

  A blast engulfed the launch.

  NINE

  Quaestor Eishtren read the signal flags. "The King has taken possession of the Viceroy's New Palace."

  Telriy considered that. "Ask for directions."

  "Directions to where, my lady queen?" After half a fortnight of long watches, the quaestor was as slow-thinking and exhausted as she was.

  "To the palace. I heard of it when I was
here before, but never had the need or chance to see it. We have to know how to get there, or, at the very least, ask what it looks like from the air. I want to go directly to it."

  The officer nodded at Truhsg and the fugleman waved the message with red and green flags. The answer came within seconds from the main north tower of the Blue Fortress, no more than a hundred armlengths off their starboard bow.

  Eishtren announced the message as it flashed. "Head of Avenue of Parades ... northern end of Old City ... large central building with dome ... four slender towers at corners."

  Right away, Telriy turned Number One east toward the Old City and the gathering dark, cruising slowly through the nearly still air at four hundred armlengths altitude. Overhead, the high, rub board like cloudscape glowed crimson from the setting sun aft. Below, dim yellow lights began to appear in the windows of the city.

  Screening the limited Mhajhkaeirii forces in the city from attack by outlying elements of the Khalarii'n Imperial Army had obviously been a mission that required adroit maneuver and therefore the most accomplished skyship helmsman available. With Mar incapacitated, there had been no doubt that that helmsman was her. After Mar's rescue, High-Captain Mhiskva had reported to her on the disposition of his forces, and, while he had not specifically requested that she take up the mission, the implication had been clear enough and she had readily volunteered. Knowing that she could do nothing more to help Mar and having no desire to sit uselessly at his bedside, she had welcomed the opportunity to put her still burning anger to use.

  That anger had lost most of its heat but was not gone. Her Gran had once told her that forgiveness was a waste; like as not the offender would offend again, and most often in a more egregious fashion. Telriy had never found reason to doubt that adage, and thus had added this newest offense to the store of anger that she kept locked in the center of her soul.

  Yhejia, in full mother hen mode, bustled out of the cabin corridor, crossed the deck through the crowd of sleeping and reclining Khalarii prisoners of war and their Mhajhkaeirii guards, and mounted the stairs to the steerage. With a no nonsense expression, she pressed a hot mug of broth into Telriy's hands.