Key to Magic 04 Emperor

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  Then, after a scant few seconds more, the Phaelle'n rush slowed, mired in the teeth of a gale.

  One armsman lost his footing, stumbling back into the one behind, then another, and the charge stopped in its tracks.

  Another second saw the entire center of the attack swept away, tumbling and spinning like dried leaves.

  The Mhajhkaeirii began to cheer and Mar advanced.

  He carried his dry storm across the plaza and into the streets, sweeping everything before him. In addition to men, the driving wind also snatched up and carried away doors, shutters, awnings, roofing tiles, the occasional cobblestone, whitewash and plaster facades, and everything else not securely fixed in place. One entire two storey apartment at the corner of a cross street burst in the teeth of his magic tempest and its wood, stone, and furnishings fountained across the town. Tortured crosswinds and rip currents generated by the unnatural flow of air birthed hundreds of whirlwinds outlined in trash and dirt and lingering fires were snuffed out as his scourge passed over them.

  The enemy formations disintegrated as the Black Monks were blown down streets, into houses, over houses, and often through them. Some tried to take refuge in solid structures, but Mar simply blasted away roofs, doors, and windows to drive them out. With the first column in disarray, he sought the second under the over watch of Number Seven and dealt with it in the same way. For much of an hour, Mar harried any of the enemy that made move to regroup, pounding them with staggering gusts from above. Once, half a section eluded his efforts and tried to break through Vice-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs' line to escape, but were dealt with handily by the Mhajhkaeirii. Eventually, the ground forces led by Captain Mhiskva and Vice-Captain Berhl reached the grand plaza and Mar stopped feeding the wind. Happily, with the artificial flux modulation extinguished, the disrupted air danced aimlessly for a few moments and then sagged into its original calm.

  It took all of the rest of the day to root out the Black Monks. Many refused to surrender, fighting to the last, but at dusk, when the Battle of Elboern was done, over four thousand had been taken prisoner.

  After reporting this fact, Mhiskva asked Mar, "What is our next objective, my lord king?"

  Mar answered immediately. "We move toward Mhajhkaei."

  He had had no particular objective in mind when he brought the flotilla south, his decision more of a knee-jerk reaction to the news the destruction of the Prince Davfydd than anything else, but there seemed little doubt to him now that he must push the monks back, seize the outer provinces, and drive on to The Greatest City in All the World.

  TWENTY-TWO

  17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 140th Day of Glorious Work

  Year One, Day Ten of the New Age of Magic

  (Twelfthday, Waxing, 2nd Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)

  The Citadel

  While loyal Salients continued to remove the bodies, Traeleon righted one of the deceased Conclave member's chairs and moved it to the spot where his desk had been. His own chair and his desk, covered in dried blood -- the hapless novitiate's and the cursed Plehvis' -- were smashed beyond use.

  Then he simply sat down. The running battle through the former Palace to crush the conspirators had exhausted him. While he could not blame his failure to maintain his peak physical vigor on any other, it was true that his duties as Archdeacon had left little time for Salient basic physical drills.

  He waved at a Veteran Brother supervising the clean-up with the enervated bolt thrower that had not left his hand. "Have a table brought to me."

  "Yes, Preeminence."

  Before the table arrived, Bhrucherra, in company with a half score alert Salients, entered the hall and came up to dais.

  "What did you learn?" Traeleon asked him straightaway.

  "Very little, brother. Two died without speaking and the third said only the word 'cadre' before the winch snapped his neck."

  "This conspiracy must be cleansed from our fraternity," Traeleon declared more fiercely than he might have wished.

  "I have already issued directives for trusted Salients to investigate the fidelity of all brethren in the city, brother."

  "We will have to cleanse more than just the city. These traitors were in the most trusted positions in our hierarchy. I knew many of them by name and spoke to them on a daily basis. But no two of them originated in the same community or congregation. This abomination has been years in the making and might well extend throughout the Brotherhood."

  "If that is so, and I do not doubt it, brother, then it will not be a simple matter to find all who were involved."

  "But it will be done. Brother, until the Conclave can be reconstituted, you must shoulder a great part of the burden of governing our fraternity. You will be second only to me and this is the first and most important task that I lay to you. Set your Inquisitors to discover the root of this conspiracy and order the immediate removal of any with even the slightest breath of suspicion."

  "It will be done, brother."

  "Has the Martial Director been found?"

  "He is not within the palace. I have sent orders to the guards at the gates and at the docks to arrest him on sight."

  Traeleon did not know for a fact that Lhevatr was involved in the conspiracy, but his convenient exit before the attack and subsequent disappearance certainly seemed to confirm his guilt.

  "Good. Keep me informed."

  Bhrucherra clasped Traeleon's forearm and departed.

  Some time later, after all of the corpses had been removed and the blood cleaned away, a member of the brethren in traveling clothes, looking uncertain, wandered through the open doors of the hall and was stopped by the Salients flanking them. The Senior Assault Brother in charge spoke with the individual and then came to inform Traeleon that Abbot Pzieilng, from the Preceptor community on the isle of Drh, had come to keep his mid-afternoon appointment with the Archdeacon.

  Neither the name nor the supposed appointment was familiar to Traeleon, but then neither would be. He had relied exclusively on Plehvis to receive requests for personal audiences from the rank and file of the Brotherhood, to determine their merit, and on that judgment to decide approval or denial. The dead traitor had also normally assembled all pertinent information and provided Traeleon with a briefing just prior to any approved meeting.

  His curiosity piqued, Traeleon ordered the Senior Assault Brother to allow the abbot to approach. After the dramatic events of the day, a dose of the mundane would be a welcome diversion. Drh was off the Eastern Shore, more than six hundred leagues from Mhajhkaei, and Traeleon wanted to know what issue would motivate the abbot to travel in person all this way, rather than simply posting his question or request in a letter or, if it were of sufficient priority, submitting it to the far talking network for scheduled transmission.

  Pzieilng was tall, rotund, and wore his gray beard long and his darker, wiry hair close cropped. The simple cut and mean condition of his woolen seaman's coat, cotton deck trousers, workman's tunic, and scuffed boots indicated that his community was not an affluent one.

  He also seemed to be bubbling over with excitement, so much so that as soon as he reached the dais he spoke without waiting to be greeted by the Archdeacon, a violation of long established decorum.

  "Preeminence, I have the great pleasure to inform you that, after three quarters of a century of diligent effort, we have at last unraveled the modulation sequence of the Algaraemyr Device!"

  Over the centuries, the Brotherhood of Phaelle had gathered literally thousands of artifacts that had some whiff of magic about them or vague suggestion that they had once functioned as flux vessels. The purpose or usage of the vast majority of these often fragmentary remnants remained unknown, though many were the subject of intense, devoted study by various small congregations and communities. Just off the top of his head, Traeleon was not familiar with this Algaraemyr Device.

  "Refresh my memory concerning the device, Abbot Pzieilng."

  "Gladly, Preeminence!" The portl
y man slipped a satchel from his shoulder, sat it upright on the table, then reached inside. When he looked up again, he found Traeleon's bolt thrower pointed at his chest. It was entirely likely that he did not know what the simple implement was, but there was no doubt from Traeleon's stance that it was a weapon.

  Pzieilng smiled lopsidedly. "Ah, your pardon Preeminence, but if I may be permitted, I have brought the actual artifact."

  "Proceed." Traeleon did not lower the bolt thrower.

  With a slight tremor, the abbot's hand emerged holding a small oblong piece of gray metal with a pronounced curl at one end. Its surface was smooth, without carving, inscription, or other mark. He placed it alongside the satchel with the flat side down and the curl up and toward the Archdeacon.

  "Sponge divers fished the Algaraemyr Device from the Yellow Bay on the Eastern Coast in 1532 AFE and sold it to an itinerant lay brother in the market at Trunae the following year. It arrived in our community two years after that and has resided with us in all the time since. After a further ten years of continuous study, its key sequence was accurately deciphered in 1546. As its magical effect was not readily apparent, it was not reclassified as a Holy Relic at that time. It was not until 1561, when our community was under the tutelage of Abbot Dimachye, that its prime function was discovered."

  With moderate interest, Traeleon prompted, "That being?"

  Pzieilng grinned broadly. "Shall I demonstrate?"

  Traeleon nodded, watching both the device and the abbot with sharp focus. If this was another scheme to attempt an assassination, then both would instantly receive enervated bolts.

  Thrusting out both hands parallel to the table surface, Pzieilng in rapid succession snapped the forefinger and ring finger of his left hand and the second finger of his right.

  As far as Traeleon could tell, nothing happened. He could vaguely sense the flux modulations of the device, but none of their segments or fluctuations. Physically, the device remained unperturbed on its original spot on the tabletop. He looked in askance at the abbot.

  Grinning wider, Pzieilng spoke one word in a Precursor dialect, "Gyote!"

  This was either Variant 7 or 8, Traeleon thought, perhaps one of the minor divisions. As he recalled, the word was understood to mean "up" or "rise." However, the abbot gave it a slightly different pronunciation than that Traeleon had heard used previously.

  Without a bobble, the table rose a full span from the floor, bearing up all the objects upon it including Pzieilng's satchel, and steadily hovered place. There did not appear to be any singular point of lift or balance, but rather it seemed as if the table were equally supported.

  Traeleon pushed down hard on one corner with his free hand, trying to overturn it, but the table remained immobile. Nor could he make it pivot.

  "Does it do anything else?" he asked, ready to dismiss the brother back to his far off island monastery. This was a remarkable effect, surely, but hardly utilitarian.

  His grin slipping, the abbot said hurriedly, "I am sorry, Preeminence, perhaps I am getting ahead of my explanation. The Algaraemyr Device will levitate to a height of three fingerlengths and move any object to which it is attached, regardless of size, material, or weight. This distance is constant independent of terrain height or composition. The effect also remains consistent over any body of water with a depth no greater than five and one half armlengths."

  Traeleon keyed on one particular point of Pzieilng's explanation. "You said it will move?'"

  The abbot nodded. "Asze!" Left.

  The table moved to Traeleon's right, slowly gaining speed.

  "Swoi!" Stop.

  "Sze!" Right. The table moved back toward its original position.

  "Swoi! Trhotal!" The table stopped and moved toward Traeleon.

  "Swoi! Kya!" The table reversed direction. A final command of "Swoi! Tresti!" caused it to settle back to the dais.

  "How fast will it go?" Traeleon asked.

  "The speed increases in graduated increments. Abbot Dimachye was able to get a log platform up to a top speed that he estimated in his records to be almost seven leagues per hour."

  Traeleon contemplated the artifact. It was an interesting curiosity, but considering its simplicity and the fact that there was but a sole example, still no more than just a curiosity. It could replace a team of horses to transport heavy loads overland, and possibly be used to impress the uninitiated with the power of magic, but he could not conceive that it would make a great contribution to any of his current objectives.

  "Thank you, brother Pzieilng, for bringing this to my attention. I will direct Abbot Jzeoosl of the College of Archivists to determine how to best utilize it in the Work. You may leave it here and I shall have it transferred to his care and also implement the process to have it declared a Holy Relic. I commend you and your community on your diligence to the Duty." He made the sign of the Tripartite.

  "Your pardon, Preeminence, but it was not specifically concerning the Algaraemyr Device that I have come to speak with you, but rather that we have at last completed the investigations begun by Abbot Dimachye. After more than half a century of work, we have identified all the nuances of its various flux modulations and successfully mapped the complete sequence, thus proving his Theory of Subdivision and Summation!"

  Traeleon sensed that something important had just been said, even if the meaning was not immediately clear to him. He had not, of course, ever heard of the Theory of Subdivision and Summation or Abbot Dimachye of the College of Preceptors.

  "I see. To insure that my understanding is complete, would you please enunciate the particulars of Brother Dimachye's labors and of his theories."

  "It would be my most sincere pleasure, Preeminence!"

  Pzieilng pulled a wad of twine from a trouser pocket. It was a confused mass of knots and snarls, something that looked like it should simply be thrown out with the trash.

  "I use this twine to demonstrate Brother Dimachye's theory to our postulants, as have all leaders of our community since the time of our revered departed brother. I made it by tying a random sequence of fisherman's knots in an original one armlength piece of common hemp. As you can see, the very act of tying the knots has frayed and loosened the weave of the twine, incidentally creating additional snags and abrasions, which cause further weak frictions and hitches, or strong attachments. This complete process -- the direct manipulation and the incidental interaction -- is, Abbot Dimachye postulated, an accurate if simplistic model of the modulations created when flux is manipulated in order to create a magical effect. Thus, you can readily see that this mass can act as a physical representation of a complete spell, or at least of a single insular component of a spell."

  Traeleon nodded without speaking. Some of these concepts were vaguely familiar to him from his long ago novitiate studies.

  "The conundrum that has always existed among us who study magic is this: how can one learn to reproduce such a convoluted pattern so as to recreate the spell? Needless to say, a great many sage thinkers had considered this problem without deriving a solution. Having considered all prior work, it was clear to Brother Dimachye, as I am sure that it must be clear to you now, that without a phenomenally superior Ability and a pre-existing knowledge of how the complexity of the pattern had been created -- speaking in terms of the model, that would be the number, the type, and the exact sequence of the knots -- it is for all practical purposes impossible to make an identical copy."

  The abbot stopped and gave Traeleon the pedagogue's standard "Are you following?" look and at his amused nod, continued.

  "Abbot Dimachye's great insight was that one did not need to be able to comprehend the entire pattern of the twine, but simply to reduce its complexity."

  The abbot pulled a small set of shears from a pocket of his coat, separated out a loop of the twine, and freed it with two quick snips. He then held the resulting short bit of twine up for Traeleon to see.

  "If I continued to cut the twine and precisely recorded the orientation, leng
th, and configuration of each piece as I removed it, I would eventually have a set of descriptions that I could then use to assemble an exact reproduction of the original. In the case of a flux modulation, it is not actually necessary to destructively separate the subdivisions, but only to divine a precise description for each one. However, there then must follow a long period of trial and error to discover the specific flux activations necessary to accurately mimic each subdivision."

  After staring at the abbot for a few seconds, Traeleon asked, "Abbot Pzieilng, are you saying that you have copied an existing ancient spell?"

  If so, then he and his insignificant community had succeeded in doing something that the Brotherhood of Phaelle had been trying to do for more than two millennia.

  Pzieilng's expression became triumphant. He returned the Algaraemyr Device to the satchel and produced from the bag a small iron flat bar of apparently the same dimension as the relic, but lacking the curl. He placed this on the table and after a theatrical pause said, "Gyote!"

  The table rose.

  Smiling his widest smile yet, the abbot took four fingerlength-thick cord and leather bound manuscripts from his satchel and spread them out on the table.

  "Preeminence, the entire sequence of the Algaraemyr Device!" He opened one of the books. "As you can see, we have used notational methods and script rules invented by Abbot Dimachye. The reproduction process requires that the iron vessel be heated in a kiln to a temperature that would boil water and for a team of twenty-five brethren who have memorized the --"

  Thinking ahead, Traeleon interrupted. "You said it took seventy-five years to create this?"