Thief (The Key to Magic Book 7)

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  Breathing heavily, Bhrucherra, as discommoded as Traeleon had every seen him, exclaimed "You must allow me to go in your stead!"

  Traeleon scowled. "Have your spies informed you of some treachery?"

  "No, brother! A premonition has struck me this morning! Only ill will come of this meeting."

  Traeleon turned and looked across the damp, open ground towards the truce pavilion and the Imperial siege lines three hundred paces beyond it. He said nothing for a moment.

  "This task is the work of the Archdeacon and thus my duty," he said without emotion. "As we have already decided, you will stay to supervise the brethren in my absence."

  Without a backwards glance, he strode away.

  FIFTY-THREE

  The monks flew no banners. The upper extensions of the tall poles that held up the awning under which the truce parties would meet were bare. The spot was only a few hundred paces from the main gate of Plythtwaelndt, more or less half way between the walls and the positions of the First Army. A light rain had fallen at dawn, turning the churned earth of the open ground into a shallow muck that pulled at Mar's boots but otherwise did little to impair his footing, and the sky was still heavily overcast.

  He had steadfastly resisted the temptation to spy ahead from undertime. A man had to be the steward of his own conscience and it had struck him as a grievous breach of good faith to know the outcome before it had happened.

  By prior agreement, the two groups approached the awning on foot with their sky people escorts. Mar had chosen Waleck and the Gaaelfharenii as the four guards allowed him. All were armed, though Waleck carried only a belt knife. Oyraebos and the younger of his brother sorcerers, Bilddhri, walked with Mar's group.

  Oyraebos had informed him that the escorts for the Phaelle'n group would both also be high ranked sorcerers, Dhavosh and Algo. The senior sorcerer had assured him that neither felt any antagonism towards him as a result of the aborted battle.

  He had simply nodded. He did still feel some antagonism -- the feeling of bleeding to death was still very clear in his mind -- but no so much that it would cloud his judgment.

  The two groups arrived at nearly the same time and stopped just under the shade of the awning on their respective sides.

  Mar studied his enemy as his enemy studied him.

  The leader of the Brotherhood of Phaelle wore sturdy clothing and heavy boots, but save for his shaved scalp and the tattoos that all the Black Monks wore, he seemed rather common and unremarkable. He was not particularly tall or stout and he did not look particularly sinister or menacing.

  No doubt he was thinking something similar about Mar.

  Oyraebos moved to the right and stopped almost precisely equidistant from the opposing parties, then turned so that he faced along the two groups. It was obvious that the sorcerer had chosen the position and stance to demonstrate his neutrality.

  "I wish to thank each of you for agreeing to come here today," Oyraebos began, with an encouraging but not overblown smile. "It is my hope that --"

  One of the Black Monks standing behind the Archdeacon threw up a hand. Mar had only an instant to recognize the pistol before it fired.

  The report of the shots was deafening and though he threw himself to the ground as he cast a ward, he knew that it was already too late. His magic could have no effect on the flux neutral projectiles that screamed from the weapon.

  Blood and flesh erupted from Oyraebos's chest, twisting his torso with each impact. Killed by the first shot, the sorcerer did not cry out as his eyes went dark and his body crashed to the ground.

  Everyone sprang into action.

  An incredible leap carried Mhiskva to the assassin and a single swing of his great axe clove both pistol and Black Monk in twain. His backswing knocked the other three black clad monks, all going for their swords, into a sprawling heap.

  The Archdeacon dove to the right. Dhavosh and Algo crouched and began rapidly gesturing to cast spells. Bilddhri raced for Oyraebos' side

  Wilhm and Lord Hhrahld snatched Mar up from the ground, but before the giants could put into motion their obvious intention to sprint him away, the Archdeacon fired his pistol.

  The Knife Fighter's Dirge, screamed between heartbeats, gave Mar just the fraction of a second that he needed to wrap the two giants in a loop of flux and drag them into and back out of undertime, allowing the magicless projectiles to pass through empty space.

  He used raw ether to break the Gaaelfharenii's grip on his arms, then raised his hands to gesture. One twist of his wrists enveloped the Archdeacon in an incinerating globe of green flame, ending the monk's life as quickly as the pistol had ended that of Oyraebos. A clench of Mar's right fist swept the remains into the heart of undertime.

  A blast of ethereal flux, discharging collateral natural light in a rainbow colored halo, splattered around Mar and the Gaaelfharenii. The magical attack had been deflected by very strong wards.

  But Mar had not cast them.

  As more spells bashed fruitlessly against the ethereal shield, he shot a glance around to see who had come to his rescue.

  Pale and frantic, Bilddhri knelt beside the body of Oyraebos, his hands pressed on wounds from which the blood had already ceased to flow. The younger sorcerer was rapidly chanting in Common, but Mar could see through the ether that the relatively weak flux modulations that Bilddhri created were wasted attempts to heal his already dead comrade.

  Surprised, Mar shot his gaze to Waleck.

  Grim faced, the old man stood with his right arm raised in an open handed gesture, but remained motionless.

  When Mar whipped his head back around, he saw the only possible source of the magical attack staring straight at him.

  Dhavosh had dodged away from a shocked-faced Algo and out from beneath the awning. The clouds had opened and the ancient sorcerer stood in a shaft of full sun. His hands flashed too fast to see as he poured combat spell after combat spell onto Waleck's wards.

  Then a concentrated lance of pure ebony ether pierced Dhavosh's weaker wards and punched through the sorcerer's chest. Like Oyraebos, Dhavosh died without knowing what had killed him.

  Then, it was over and no one else was trying to kill Mar or anyone else. Hardly two minutes had passed. He drew in a long breath and walked towards Algo. Waleck's wards moved with him.

  "Surrender or die," he grated when he was only a step from the still crouched and confounded sorcerer. His hand glowed with the energy of Orghon's Wrath.

  Algo instantly raised his hands, his eyes darting back and forth from one corpse to the other. The sorcerer's clear incredulity was not feigned; Algo had known nothing in advance of the treachery.

  "Bind them," Mar ordered.

  Cutting down strips of the awning to twist into cords, Mhiskva, Wilhm, and Lord Hhrahld, with blazing Gaaelfharenii speed and efficiency, immediately accomplished the task. None of the prisoners resisted, though the surviving three Black Monks, of course, were unconscious.

  Mar walked to Bilddhri. "He's dead. There's nothing that you can do for him."

  An anguished look on his face, Bilddhri shook his head, but after another wide-eyed moment he stood. Oyraebos' blood covered his hands and forearms.

  "How did this happen?" the young sorcerer asked him, his eyes dancing about as if searching for an answer.

  Mar had no answer for him, so he just turned away and walked to Waleck. "Thank you."

  The old man showed distaste. "For killing Dhavosh? I take no thanks for killing. I have done too much of it in my life."

  "You knew?"

  "Yes. My dreams warned me days ago."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Some events should not be avoided, Mar. This was the way that it had to be."

  Mar grunted and turned to the waiting Gaaelfharenii. "High-Captain Mhiskva, take the fortress. Destroy the Brotherhood of Phaelle."

  The big marine officer saluted. "Aye, my lord king. Should I lead the rifle section in first?"

  "Wait, Mar," Waleck cautio
ned. "You should not send in your armsmen as yet."

  "I won't make the same mistake twice. When you find snakes, you kill them."

  "Yes, but sometimes it is better to set snakes to kill snakes. Send for Whorlyr. Let him lead his Khai'loaghirii through the gates. Many of the monks will join him and that will cause many of the others to flee."

  "But not all."

  "Some men will always fight to the last for a hopeless cause."

  Mar thought a moment then nodded at Mhiskva, who sent a glance that put Wilhm racing away.

  Mar looked from the still stunned Bilddhri to the body of Oyraebos. "What should I do now?"

  Waleck shook his head. "You must choose the rest of this path. I know what you most likely will do, but I cannot tell you, for doing so would have negative consequences."

  Gritting his teeth, Mar considered his options.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Mar laid Oyraebos' bloody corpse on the pedestal of the autodoc.

  "How long?" Llylquaendt asked.

  "Minutes."

  The medic made rapid gestures and the autodoc began its work. He glanced at the lights. "This man is from the ancient world. His genetic magical potential is -- or rather was -- in the high normal range. Was he a technician of some sort? An enchanter or a sorcerer? Have you rescued him from before the end?"

  "No, he's from here. He -- and a large number of others -- survived in stasis."

  Surprise briefly showed on the medic's face. "Did you kill him?"

  "I wouldn't need to use a pistol."

  "I see your point. Of what use is he to your plans? Is he just another refugee?"

  "No. He's the leader of his people and without him I will have to wage war against them for more than twenty years. In the end, none of them will survive and much of the Empire will be laid waste. His name is Oyraebos. Have you ever heard of him?"

  "No." Llylquaendt's face took on a curious expression. "Well, actually, yes. Not from before the end, but from the children here. I overheard a boy telling some others about the evil sorcerer Oyraebos that steals naughty children out of their beds and eats them. I had presumed the story to be entirely fiction."

  "He does not eat or steal children."

  "That is good to know," Llylquaendt replied with a quirk of his lips that was not quite a smile. "He is a peacemaker?"

  "He's a powerful and driven man that needs a new focus for his life. He wants to rebuild this world in the image of the old one."

  Llylquaendt shook his head. "That cannot be done and it should not be attempted."

  "He and his people need a place to live, to work, and to build."

  The medic's forehead creased. "Pyra."

  "The natural isolation from the rest of the world will reduce the opportunities for magical mischief. Changing the desert and the ruins into a thriving city will take decades of hard labor that should keep them all too busy to get into trouble. Or, at least, very often."

  "Pyra will thrive again? Will I live to see it?"

  "I'll make certain of it. Oyraebos needs a nagging conscience."

  Llylquaendt produced a sour laugh. "Has all this always been a part of your plan?"

  "There's no plan. I just make it up as I go."

  Llylquaendt sighed. "Wizards."

  Mar lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

  "What of my wives and the Gheddessii? What do you have planned for them?"

  "You and I shall go fetch your wives from the campfire tomorrow. The tribes have their own plans. The One Who Sees has forged a confederation of most of the major clans and he has diverted their normal seasonal migration."

  "They are also coming here," Llylquaendt said, not looking pleased. "To Pyra."

  "Yes. You should begin to make preparations to accommodate them. Their scouts will arrive here within a few days."

  "So I am to be saddled with both the unmanageable, educated ancients and the obstinate, superstitious moderns. Two sides of the same bad coin."

  "They will become the new Pyraii."

  Llylquaendt fell silent and looked thoughtful for a few moments.

  Mar knew that Llylquaendt was already convinced. Being a medic was not only his vocation but his nature; being responsible for and taking care of others was his purpose in life. Though he had grumbled, he had not hesitated to continue to minister to the regular stream of discarded people that Mar had left at the Bunker and he would not refuse to watch over and guide these newest arrivals.

  "What am I to say to convince Oyraebos?"

  "Whatever is necessary. He and his people can be a part of the future or they can die with the past. It's his decision to make."

  He stepped into undertime.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  In a glorious ceremony attended by all the Princes, Viceroys, and other notables of the North, a scattering of ancient sorcerers and gawking technicians, a wiry medic and his multiplying Gheddessii progeny, and as many citizens of all stations as could jamb themselves into the Plaza of the Empire, Mar, in his capacity as Beloved Champion of All the Gods, anointed Lord Ghorn and his very pregnant wife Lady Rhavaelei as Emperor and Empress of the Glorious Empire.

  After all the speeches, flag wavings, and invocations were done, Mar flew to the peak of the obelisk and used a spell to broadcast his voice to the entire city.

  "Citizens of the Glorious Empire of the North! Today I have passed the crown to a new leader, but I shall always be watching, if not here in the world, then beyond in the realm of the Gods!"

  Turning his hand to cast a spectacular, ethereally generated display of multicolored fire and bursting light, he hid himself in a glamour. After watching the unbounded ecstasy of the crowd for a sour moment, he stepped through undertime to the Monolith and his waiting family.

  Telriy was feeding Celly when he exited his portal. On occasion, the unqualified domesticity of their situation struck him as bizarre, as if his life should rightly be something entirely different, but, afraid that contemplation of it might disrupt it like a fever dream, he always fled the thought.

  "How'd it go?" she asked him.

  "As planned. I think the only one that wasn't having a good time was Lord Ghorn. Lady Rhavaelei was thrilled enough for both of them, though."

  "It doesn't seem quite right that she's gotten what she always wanted in spite of all that she did."

  He shrugged. "She'll make him a good empress. She's changed, I think."

  "We'll see. How long will you stay?"

  "As long as you want."

  "But you will go."

  "There are things that still must be done."

  "There will always be things that must be done. That's not your fault."

  "It's not about fault. It's about me being the only one that can do them."

  Telriy sighed. "You are who you are."

  To change the subject, he walked over to the big copper tub. "I could use a long soak. Do you mind if I use your bath?"

  "It'll take the Auxiliaries several hours to heat and bring the water. I have to give Signifier Aael advance notice. Yhejia can get you a pitcher of hot water in just a few minutes though. That would be better than nothing."

  "I'll take care of filling the tub."

  He concentrated a moment, opening a small undertime conduit from the bottom of the villa's main, magically fed well to the bottom of the gleaming tub. A second spell filtered out sand and other impurities, making the inflow crystal clear. A third simultaneously heated the water. He dissolved the three modulations when the water was a span from the rim.

  After seeing the vapor begin to rise, Telriy placed the now sleeping Celly in her crib and began to disrobe. "I could use a soak as well."

  A smile stretched his face in ways that it had not been stretched in a long time.

  Waleck was in the villa's big dining room when he and Telriy, leaving Celly under Yhejia's watchful gaze and Mar's concealed wards, came down for supper. The other diners had sorted themselves into their usual family groups and longtime associations, leaving the o
ld man alone at his table. He looked up with a happy smile as the two of them brought their plates to sit opposite him.

  The old man was not exactly the old Waleck. Mar now knew that he had full command of all the magic that nhBreen had known and was almost certainly the most powerful sorcerer alive, second only amongst living magicians to Mar himself, but thus far the erstwhile waste miner had shown no inclination to abuse or even frequently use that magic. Mar had not exactly noticed when Waleck had gone from suspected enemy to trusted confident, but the change had made Mar's work much easier.

  In a vague sense, the old man had taken up residence at the Monolith; while he might stay at the villa or Master Khlosb'ihs' tower or in the deep tunnels with the launch site technicians for a day or a fortnight, it was clear that he would never tarry in any one spot for any significant length of time. From time to time, Mar did have the feeling that the old man was not around, but whenever he wanted to ask him about dreams or magic or needed his help for an undertime expedition, he would always turn a corner and find him.

  Telriy nodded at Waleck, but did not mirror the old man's joy at their meeting. She had never come to trust him.

  "Good evening!" Waleck enthused, waving his fork. "The beans are excellent today! Spiced just as I like them."

  While Telriy had brought apples and raw carrots to eat along with her bread and beans, Mar had simply taken an extra scoop of soup to soak his bread. Beans stuck with a man.

  "Without the right spices," he said inanely, "beans are just beans."

  Waleck nodded sagely. "No doubt of that."

  Telriy looked at both of them as if they were crazy.

  Ignoring his unease, Mar ate a few bites, waiting.

  "High-Captain Mhiskva will drive the last fervent adherents of the Brotherhood from the Archipelago by spring," Waleck said in the normal casual tone that he employed when relating the information gleaned from his dreams. "You should have no concerns in that area."

  "What of Whorlyr?"

  "Aerlon should be tasked to monitor him. The Plydyrii will be diligent and take the appropriate actions at the appropriate times."