“I am at your service, my lord.”
Lord Ghorn made a slight gesture with his hand and Aerlon’s guards faded back to a discrete distance.
“Those three ships are the heart of the Monks’ physical power,” the prince stated. “Have they any others of the same sort?”
“Not that I have seen. They have kept the three in some secret harbor and I have only known them to be sent forth once to cow a recalcitrant prince. Until today, I have not seen them used in battle.”
Aerlon paused a moment, then continued, “Those ships are relics.”
“Relics?” Mar interrupted, intrigued. “What do you mean?”
“All of the Phaelle’n magics that I have witnessed are bound up in artifacts, revered items that they protect most carefully and use sparingly. Most of the ones I have been allowed to see have the look of age upon them.”
“So you’re saying that none of their magic is new?” Mar questioned.
Aerlon shrugged. “The spells that I have seen used -- wards and glamours the Phaelle’n call them – have always been associated with some specific relic, once a cube of an emerald color, but usually a globe with facets of varying sizes.”
“A sphere?” Mar demanded.
“Aye, like that, though not smooth.”
Lord Ghorn had watched this exchange without interrupting. When Mar fell silent, the Prince-Commander asked, “So, if I understand your meaning, these ships were not recently constructed? Could the Monks launch more of these vessels?”
“I do not know for certain, but my guess would be no.”
“Interesting. Were those ships eliminated, would the cities in Bronze rise against the Monks?”
“Some might. My island of Plydyre would not, I think. The merchants and the shipbuilders support the Phaelle’n strongly. Whalgheir would be likely to. Until their prince’s submission to High Prince Dralkor, they banned the Monks from their islands. Certainly the Phaelle’n hold on the archipelago would be weakened.”
Lord Ghorn nodded. “Thank you, Commander.”
Again, the Plydyrii officer saluted as if he were the prince’s subordinate.
Mar knew that the entire exchange had been orchestrated for his benefit, an obvious attempt to convince him of the necessity of an attack on the Phaelle’n ships. He had to admit that the logic of Lord Ghorn’s proposal was sound. From what Aerlon had said, the destruction of the magical warships would be a massive blow to the strength of the Brotherhood and even might, as the prince had suggested, cause their nascent empire to crumble.
However, truthfully, he found that his own fever for the destruction of the Brotherhood had cooled. The ruin and death caused by his use of magic and that exacted by the spells of the Phaelle’n had convinced him with painfully certainty that any war fought with magic would extort a horrendous and unprecedented toll in blood.
“If I continue to fight the Brotherhood here,” Mar informed Lord Ghorn, “your city will be destroyed, either by them or by me.”
“With victory, The Greatest City in All the World can be rebuilt. With defeat, Mhajhkaei will never rise again.”
“The fate of Mhajhkaei doesn’t concern me. I fight the Phaelle’n for my own reasons, as I said.”
“You hope to recover your master.”
Mar thought not to answer, but because it did not truly matter, he nodded his head.
“How do you know that he is not already dead?”
“I don’t, but I will continue to seek him until I free him or see his body.”
Lord Ghorn awarded Mar a nod of approval. “An admirable loyalty.” The prince remained silent for a moment, his face unreadable. “So what do you plan? To retreat from the city?”
“I’ll leave Mhajhkaei as soon as you release me. I can’t do anything else here. What I do beyond that is my own affair, and I’d rather not reveal anything further to someone who might fall into the hands of the Phaelle’n.”
The Mhajhkaeirii prince did not react to this last, but Mar suspected that the man was highly displeased.
Lord Ghorn contemplated Mar for a moment and then announced, “You are, of course, free to depart whenever you please.” He made an expansive gesture with his hands. “We only wished to express our thanks.”
“I could use clothing and food,” Mar suggested, wondering if his refusal to come to their aid had dampened the prince’s gratitude. “And materials to build another sky raft.”
“We can spare some food and perhaps other things from our siege stocks,” Lord Ghorn replied affably, “but it will not be a great deal, I am afraid. Perhaps a quarter of the city has taken shelter in the Citadel and we will find ourselves stretched thin if the siege goes unbroken. Any materials for your magery raft I am sure we can find, as I would have a keen interest in observing its construction. There is one boon, however, that I would beg of you, my lord magician.”
Mar waited, saying nothing. He was unaccustomed to others treating him with such courtesy and found the experience mildly unpleasant.
“It has occurred to me that from your vantage the entire city can be seen.”
Wondering where this led, Mar nodded reluctantly.
“It has also occurred to me that this vantage would allow a strategist to exactly locate all of the enemy forces, accurately fix their numbers, and precisely trace their battlefield movements. These things have never, to my knowledge, been previously achieved in warfare and would prove a tremendous advantage in our defense.”
“You want me to take someone up?”
“Indeed. But more precisely, myself.”
Mhiskva stirred. “My lord prince –“
“I will be as safe there as I am here, Captain,” Lord Ghorn reproved without taking his gaze from Mar. His tone was one of command. The large Mhajhkaeirii subsided with visible reluctance.
Mar shrugged. A quick flight over the city would not delay him significantly, not that he knew at that moment where he intended to go. Away from Mhajhkaei, surely, but beyond that he had not decided. Somehow, he must discover where the Phaelle’n had taken Waleck and Telriy, but he had no clue of how that might be accomplished. If this favor to Lord Ghorn bought him sufficient food and supplies, he would have the time to develop a plan of action.
“I agree, but just the one trip.”
Lord Ghorn grinned broadly. “One should be sufficient.”
FOUR
17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension
Brother Fhsuyl stopped a moment, judging his time carefully; the magic would not abide long.
“Ea’ais ns lsial paeht!” he chanted as he crossed his arms in the proscribed manner. At a slow count of seven, he flung them wide then crossed them again.
He strode immediately down the corridor, ducking his head to clear the low rims of the watertight hatches at the bulkheads, and flicked his eyes to the left as he came to an open cross-corridor. A Salient with the fresh tattoo of a Trainee Assault Brother stood at rest before a closed cabin hatch. Fhsuyl evinced recognition and grinned at the guard, a third rank novice. He moved near and clasped him warmly on the shoulder.
“M’lles, is it? I see you have advanced to Third. It warms my heart to see you Work so diligently in the Duty!”
The young man preened under the praise. “Thank you, Scholar Fhsuyl. I’d not thought that you’d remember me. I’d only the one semester of your Vessel Symbology.”
Fhsuyl remembered all of his students, though some more than others. In this case, the hierarchy had selected his Cadre, and he in particular, for this task because of the connection to the convert’s regular guard.
“Nonsense! I must tell you – in confidence mind – that you were one of the best in the class!”
Novice Third M’lles frowned slightly. “But Scholar, I received only an eighty-three percent mark.”
Fhsuyl grinned broadly. “Just my way of encouraging you to achieve your full potential, brother! I could see that you were dedicated to the Duty but needed to have a minor nudge in the direction of the
Work. I am gratified to see that my small encouragement has surely brought fruit. I applaud you again, brother, in your excellent progress in support of the Restoration!”
“Thank you, brother. I do what I can.”
“Well, M’lles, I expect to hail your deaconate before many more years pass. Send me missives as you have the opportunity. Now, I must press on. I have an appointment –“
An odd look suddenly crossed the young monk’s face and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Brother Scholar, if you have a moment, might I ask you a favor?”
“Certainly, brother.”
“I’ve come down with a stomach upset of a sudden and I’ve orders not to leave this hatchway unattended. Could you watch while I run to the facilities?”
Fhsuyl took care to appear to hesitate.” Well –“
M’lles stiffened uncomfortably. “It’s an emergency, sir!”
The powders sprinkled in the wine ration of M’lles’ last meal had done their job, and the charm had made him just slightly more trusting than normal.
Fhsuyl nodded, smiling. “Alright, I can idle my business for a moment. Do not tarry, mind.”
M’lles dashed away, casting over his shoulder “I’ll be just a moment!”
As soon as the Salient was out of sight, Fhsuyl released the latches on the hatchway and stepped inside; he had no more than ten minutes before M’lles returned. The herbalist had emphasized that the concentrated mysuestrom extract would work very predictably but also very quickly.
It was a very spare cabin. Most of it was taken up by a smartly made bunk. One corner to the left of the hatch held a cabinet bolted to the wall. A pull-down desk and a stool lodged in the tight space between it and the opposite wall. Seated on the stool, reading a yellowed scroll intently, the occupant of the room did not stir at the intrusion
“Seer Vlausquec,” Fhsuyl said quietly.
The man raised his head slowly, paused for quite a long moment, and then turned and stared expressionlessly at the intruding monk for several long moments.
“I have not heard that name in a great long while,” the occupant said at last. His eyes lost focus on Fhsuyl and stared into another time.
“I bring word from our Supreme Cadre, great Seer. We have obeyed your holy charge. We have preserved the ancient lore and recruited like-minded souls. We stand ready to wage holy war upon the heretics, to cleanse this world of infidels. We have obeyed your Final Commandment.”
The man hailed as Vlausquec blinked in incomprehension. “What might that be?”
Fhsuyl did not waver; there had been much discussion on the nature of the challenge that the Great Seer might present to anyone claiming to be one of his followers.
“As you said on the Day of Leaving, Prepare Yourselves, So That the Restorer May Come!”
Again, the man, once known as Vlausquec, gave Fhsuyl an odd look. After a moment, he said, “Bear this missive to the Supreme Cadre: Stand ready. I shall send word in due time. The Day of the Restorer is nigh!”
Fhsuyl could not contain himself; he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the cold steel of the deck. The Great Seer had shared with him the holy Word of the Restorer!
“Go now…” the Great Seer paused, remembering vaguely, and traced old forms in his head. “… with the blessings of the Restorer. It is not yet time for those of the true faith to be revealed.”
The man, who had never claimed to be a seer and was no longer known as Vlausquec, turned back to his scroll as Fhsuyl slipped back into the corridor, sealing the hatch behind him.
“Idiots,” the man muttered to his empty cabin. “I never said that. I said, “Get off your lazy arses and get that field planted. Magic is not going to do it for you! If it has not been done by the time I get back, I will run off the lot of you!”
FIVE
“You can make this fly?” Lord Ghorn asked skeptically.
Berhl, to Mar’s amazement, had proved to be an experienced carpenter. In less than an hour, the marine had, following Mar’s direction and having Ulor and the others do the grunt work of sawing lumber pulled from the ruins of the house, built what was basically a large oblong box.
Berhl, standing hammer on hip studying his work, remarked, “It looks like a big coffin.” Several of the other marines chuckled nervously.
Mhiskva shot Berhl a scowl and then experimentally rapped the solid planked side of the new sky raft with the butt of his axe. “With respect, my lord prince, it is my considered judgment that I should be the one to risk the skies with the young lord. I could take notes --”
“And then I would have to interpret your notes, Captain,” Lord Ghorn pointed out. “I need personal knowledge of the battlefield, not second hand reports. I have no intention of wasting this opportunity as I may never have another.”
Mhiskva straightened and faced Lord Ghorn determinedly. Berhl and the other marines grew still, waiting. Alerted, Mar watched with interest. The mountain that was Mhiskva had settled and did not intend to be moved.
“My lord Prince, if you perish, there are none left with the wit to command us.”
Lord Ghorn’s gaze locked with Mhiskva’s. “I have no intention of dying, Captain, but this expedition is necessary and it will be done.”
“None intend to die, my Lord, but death finds them all the same.”
The two Mhajhkaeirii officers stared at one another.
“I need you here, Mhiskva,” the Prince-Commander said quietly. “Purhlea, Zhelorthoz, and L’Ghevh will take orders from you in my absence. I trust you to give them the right orders as I would no other. I also need to discover the disposition of the Monks’ forces so that we can plan our defense. This is perhaps our last opportunity to benefit from the use of magic, rather than suffer from it. I assure you that in this instance, this task can fall on no other but me.”
For a long moment, Lord Ghorn’s cold resolve pitted itself against the captain’s rock hard stubbornness, and then, finally, Mhiskva nodded in acceptance of his prince’s logic. The mountain had not broken before the glacier, but had simply, in this instance, chosen to move aside.
‘Now, my lord magician,” Lord Ghorn prompted jovially, as if no disagreement had occurred. “How is this done? Are there mystical words or gestures?”
Mar was tempted for just a moment to make a show of it, to disguise the actual magic with improvised street theatre, but decided that the Mhajhkaeirii prince was far too acute to be so easily fooled.
“No. . . it’s done.”
The new wooden raft rose gracefully and hovered about half an armlength above the pavement.
Lord Ghorn looked from Mar to the raft and frowned slightly. “I had thought that there might be a ritual perhaps? You have no need of, what would you call it -- magery apparatus?”
“No, the . . . spell that I use is only a modification of natural ethereal flux currents. The sound-colors vary somewhat by the nature of the material but the basic concept is the same.”
Lord Ghorn looked blank. “Flux currents? Sound-colors?”
“It’s how I experience the ethereal flux. It’s difficult to describe really.”
“This is not something that can be learned easily I take it?”
“I’m not sure it can be learned,” Mar told him, remembering his reading of the text. “I think you have to be born to it.”
“Ah, unfortunate, but reasonable, I suppose. If anyone could perform magery, then there would be sorcerers and magicians running around all over the place.”
Mar took note of the fact that the prince used two terms for magical practitioners, the first the common word for the evil beings of myth and the second Waleck’s – and now Mar’s – new designation of those who opposed the first. The implication was clear that the former was naturally an enemy and the later just as naturally a friend.
Lord Ghorn humphed, a commentary on his own statement. “From what I have seen today, that eventuality would not prove entirely favorable to the general populace. Well, hopefull
y we can discuss the workings of magic again before you depart the city. Now, is this vessel steered from the bow or the stern?”
“Either, but I prefer the front so I have an unobstructed view.”
“Mhiskva, Berhl, I will take the rear seat.”
Mar watched as the captain and Berhl helped the prince climb up into the raft and settle onto the horizontal plank that served as the aforementioned seat. Lord Ghorn’s shoulders and head extended above the thick sides, but his chest and lower body were safely hidden. Mar had determined the height of the sides with thought to providing some protection against attack for the occupants.
Mar followed that trail of speculation for a moment. “Wait. I think it needs armor.”
“Armor?” Mhiskva questioned.
“Yes, along the sides and under the bottom too. I think we need to put a layer of steel between us and the green lances.”
“What of the added weight?” Lord Ghorn inquired. “Will it impair the speed of the raft?”
Mar shook his head. “No, the weight matters, but not exactly in the way you would think. I can adjust the spell to account for the drag, though. I did make a house fly, if you remember?”
“Aye,” Captain Mhiskva commented, smiling wryly. “That was an experience that I will not soon forget.”
“It didn’t fly all that well, though.” Berhl mentioned significantly.
Mhiskva chuckled. “You are alive, are you not? It would seem to me that any voyage undertaken with nothing but air under your keel should be deemed successful solely on the basis of whether you arrive in one piece.”
“Aye,” Berhl begrudged. “There’s that.”
“I think the magician is correct,” the Prince-Commander inserted. “This is not a pleasure craft but a warship, however small. But we need this to be done quickly. I must soon discover what the Monks are about, whether they mount another attack.”
“I do not know that we could find enough rolled plate here in the Citadel, my lord,” Mhiskva opined.
“Well, I could bolt some large shields all about,” Berhl suggested. “Wouldn’t take many, I expect. Those big square ones like the legions use. They’re two layers of thin beaten stock over strips of laminated hardwood. They’re light enough to carry a dozen leagues but will stop everything but a crossbow at close range.”
Key to Magic 02 Magician Page 3
