Key to Magic 02 Magician

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  Concentrating, she began the spell. With a measured beat, she rapped three times on the stone with the second knuckle of her smallest finger of her right hand, then twelve times with the opposite knuckle. Then she began to sing. Gran had told her the words were in the dead ancestral language of Fyhraen, but had confessed that none in her family had known what they meant. The song lasted nearly twenty minutes. With the last word, she opened her eyes.

  The only sign of the ward was a delicate violet radiance that bloomed outward from the slab, expanded out twenty armlengths, and then faded away completely. The ward would neither keep anyone away from her refuge nor hide her from sight like a glamour. Its effect was simple: any passing person would be completely undesirous of turning his eyes in the direction of the overhang and would be completely unaware of the discrepancy.

  Pleased with herself, she slid off the slab, lay on the warm rock by the fire, and tried to sleep.

  FORTY-TWO

  As Mar sailed toward the Palace, the great bulk of the southern tower grew to prominence in his view. Instantly, he cursed, smashing his fist down reflexively on the seat beside him. He had forgotten Telriy!

  Quickly spying her window, he swooped alongside and began shouting her name into the interior gloom. Almost immediately, the girl appeared, another woman close behind her.

  Mar stretched out his hand, jogging the cart closer. “Get on!”

  Telriy did not hesitate, flashing a smile as she took his hand and stepped onto the cart. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told him, linking her arm with his and giving him a quick hug.

  “I, too, am pleased to see you, my lord Mar,” the other woman agreed, stepping into the light to reveal herself as Lady Rhavaelei.

  “Get aboard,” Mar told her, not altogether pleased at this development.

  With no sign of timidity, the senator stepped to the sill and took a long graceful stride into the cart bed, revealing bare feet and a ripped gown.

  “Sit down and grab onto something,” Mar warned.

  Telriy gripped his arm. “Wait. There’s one more.” She turned and shouted into the room, “Whurd’l!”

  An armsman poked his head around the edge of the window, eyes wide. Mar recognized him as one of the girl’s guards. The sight of the cart floating beyond the windowsill obviously unnerved him.

  “Come with us, Whurd’l,” Telriy urged.

  The armsman gave his head a quick shake.

  “Hurry!” Mar ground out, thinking of Ghorn and the others who awaited his rescue. “We’ve no time to spare!”

  “Leave him,” Lady Rhavaelei sneered. “He is useless.”

  Telriy ignored her. “Climb on, Whurd’l!”

  Whurd’l shook his head again. “I can’t, my lady. I’m bad afraid of high places and besides, that thing’s magery! Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a hiding place.”

  Telriy nodded in acceptance and waved sadly. “Good luck, Whurd’l.”

  “And to you, my lady.”

  Without waiting, Mar banked the cart away and rolled around the tower toward the north. Behind him, Lady Rhavaelei lost her footing and landed smartly on her rear, drawing an unladylike curse from her.

  Mar swooped high above the rotunda dome and circled the northern tower until he saw Lord Ghorn, Mhiskva and all the remaining legionnaires and pirates clinging to the steeply pitched roof alongside the smashed gable window.

  Lord Ghorn caught sight of the cart and began shouting, waving an arm significantly at the gable, and Mar avoided passing in front of it as he drifted the cart down next to the roof edge. Cuhlhin and Brihstof leaned out over the precipitous drop and took hold of the cart, steadying it as Mar hopped onto the roof. He landed off balance and felt one of his boots slip on the rough tile, but Lord Ghorn, holding to a dirk driven into the roof like a spike, caught his arm.

  “Let’s go!” Mar told him. “Get everyone on!”

  Lord Ghorn nodded. “The Monks are just inside! We have kept them from getting out, but when they hear us moving they will attack.”

  Mar stared at the roof for a moment, letting his anger burn. “Load everyone up. I’ll leave something for the Phaelle’n.”

  Lord Ghorn grinned and clapped Mar on the shoulder. The prince turned toward Mhiskva, who waited by the gable, great axe at the ready. “We are done here, Captain. We need to leave quickly.”

  “Sir!” The large Mhajhkaeirii twisted to take hold of the corsair who waited beside him, and casually tossed the large man, who yelped in surprise, into the bed of the cart. Telriy caught the man’s vest to brace him, but Lady Rhavaelei shifted disdainfully out of the way, not bothering to assist. As Brihstof held onto a rear wheel, Cuhlhin scrambled aboard and turned to help the other corsairs. One of the pirates leapt from his position above the gable, sailing across the space arms spread, and landed just behind the seat, grinning fearlessly. When all of the pirates were boarded, Mhiskva skidded down the tile on his rump, scooped up Lord Ghorn and passed him into the other men’s ready hands. Without pausing, the big captain urged Brihstof onto the cart and then clambered to his place at the rear, barking for the other men to seat themselves.

  “Ready!” Lord Ghorn called to Mar.

  Mar studied the gable for a moment, made several careful adjustments, and dove for the seat of the cart. Bracing herself against the footboard, Telriy caught him, wrapping her arms around him. Without righting himself, Mar banked the raft up and away at speed. Within seconds, a concussion sounded behind them and a blast of air buffeted the cart.

  Cuhlhin, looking back, cackled in glee. “The whole top of the tower is gone!”

  “Filthy godsless heathen,” Brihstof muttered darkly. “That’s better than they deserve.”

  The corsairs shared a laugh in agreement. One of them spat over the side and made a rude gesture. Lady Rhavaelei sniffed disgustedly and turned away.

  “Well done, my lord Magician,” Lord Ghorn approved, somewhat tiredly, when the others had quieted.

  Mar shrugged, turning his attention to driving the cart.

  Lady Rhavaelei, who had maintained her position just behind the seat, rose to her knees, swayed unsteadily for a moment, and then placed her hands on Mar’s shoulders to brace herself. Leaning down near Mar’s ear, and in the process making him uncomfortably aware of her femininity, she gushed, ”This is so exciting!”

  Out of the side of his eye, Mar saw Telriy’s expression flare then quickly moderate. It looked to him as if she had inadvertently fired a truly venomous look in the other woman’s direction

  “I think it would be best if you sat back down, Lady Rhavaelei,” Mar turned to tell the senator, withdrawing from her with an exaggerated toss of his shoulders. “I can’t guarantee the stability of the cart and you might be thrown overboard.”

  “Oh, I think I will be fine! This flying is exhilarating!”

  Mar saw Lord Ghorn share a quick whispered word with Mhiskva and then rise. The pirates and legionnaires lifted hands to steady him as he made his way carefully to the front of the cart, placing his feet gingerly to avoid stepping on any of them.

  “By your leave, my ladies,” the Prince-Commander said as he reached the seat, casting his voice to be heard over the wind, “I have need of the Lord Magician’s time.”

  Making room on the seat but clearly not intending to abandon the young magician’s side, Telriy scooted closer to Mar. Lady Rhavaelei simply eyed the prince with defiant disdain, her long hair forming a drifting ebon cloud about her. She made no move to obey.

  “Cuhlhin,” Lord Ghorn directed the nearest man, “assist the Senator to her seat.”

  “Aye, sir!” The legionnaire climbed swiftly to his feet, easily finding his balance on the vibrating deck, and took firm hold of Lady Rhavaelei’s arm.

  Awarding the prince a truly murderous glare, the senator allowed herself to be squeezed between Cuhlhin and a leering pirate. She settled herself with an angry flounce, but watched intently as Lord Ghorn took a place beside Telriy.

  �
�My lord Magician,” the prince began, bracing his good leg against the footboard and taking a firm hold on the rusting arm of the seat, “I think we are safe enough for the moment and I would very much like to discover the disposition of the North and West Redoubts.”

  Mar steered the cart in a gentle banking curve toward the north.

  “The Phaelle’n have already reached the Transverse,” he informed the prince. “A full legion has taken the plaza. Another marched from the east when I passed and it should have reached the intersection by now. One more had moved west almost to the fortress there, but I dissuaded them.”

  “Is the South holding?”

  “No idea. I didn’t go in that direction.”

  “With the Monks to their rear, even if the militia makes a stand they will be crushed,” Lord Ghorn judged.

  “Mewling peasants,” Lady Rhavaelei injected haughtily. “They are nothing but cowards and ingrates.”

  Mar’s opinion of the senator solidified.

  Lord Ghorn’s face grew red. “Cuhlhin,” he grated, “if the lady says anything further, you are to gag her.”

  “Sir!”

  The senator gasped but spoke not another word.

  Mar grinned at the woman’s discomfiture, glanced at Telriy and saw a mirror of his own expression. As he banked left to line the cart up with the broad guide of the Transverse, Lord Ghorn shook his head.

  “No need to go any farther north,” the prince told him, pointing at clumps of armsmen moving south along the avenue. “Those are clearly Phaelle’n. The North must be open as well. The Monks have played their treachery well.”

  Telriy nodded. “They’ve had much practice at it.”

  “They are not firing the buildings nor, apparently, attacking the populace,” the prince mused.

  “They’ve taken the city. Maybe they intend to keep it,” Mar suggested..

  “Their original plan was to raid the city, burn the warehouses, and withdraw,” Telriy supplied. “But their initial success encouraged them to lay a siege.”

  “How do you know this?” Lord Ghorn inquired sharply.

  “Men tell women things. Women talk,” the girl replied simply.

  Lord Ghorn’s only comment was a noncommittal grumble. The prince swept his head back and forth as Mar turned the cart to the west.

  “There are men moving south along the Upper Reach of the Tertiary,” Mhiskva called from the back of the cart.

  Lord Ghorn turned to look. “I cannot make out their colors, but I doubt that they are Mhajhkaeirii.”

  No one said anything further until the cart hovered above the western fortress. Below, it was clear that the West Redoubt had not surrendered nor been betrayed. Legionnaires in sea blue occupied the towers and catwalks. Refugees thronged the open yards and spaces inside its walls.

  “Set me down, if you please, my lord Magician,” Lord Ghorn requested. “I must speak with Lord Purhlea.”

  After Mhiskva shouted down to identify themselves to the goggling sentries, Mar brought the cart down atop the highest of the square towers. Within moments, the Knight-Commander of the West barreled out of the stairwell, leading a dozen well-armed guards.

  When the stocky man recognized Lord Ghorn standing in front of the cart, he stopped short.

  The Prince-Commander wasted no time with preliminaries. “How do you stand, Knight-Commander?”

  “I have withdrawn all of my men into the Redoubt, abandoning the Primary and Secondary walls,” Lord Purhlea reported. “We had warning and closed the gates on the Upper Reach before the Monks could sneak through, but they have put rams on the gates and they will not hold for long.”

  “Can you hold for a day?”

  “Yes, surely, but to what purpose? Do you expect the Monks to offer me terms?”

  “No, but within perhaps a day the High-Captain will be able to fly your men out.”

  “In that?”

  “No, in a larger skyship that is being readied in the Old Keep. It will move your entire command in fewer than a dozen trips.”

  Lord Purhlea stiffened. “What of the citizens?”

  “How many?”

  “Upwards of six thousand. I had the interior gates sealed only when the Monks were in sight.”

  Mar saw no reaction from the prince to the scope of the number and tried likewise to suppress his own shock. Even with the larger skyship, it would be impossible to move so many before the Phaelle’n overcame the defenders.

  Lord Ghorn studied the Knight-Commander. “Will you fight to the last?”

  Lord Purhlea’s face tightened. “Yes, we will. On my oath, we will fight to the last man.”

  “Very well, then ready the citizens. We will come for them as soon as we can. No baggage and as much food and water as they can carry. We will bring out as many as possible before the Monks overcome you.”

  The Knight-Commander set his heels together and bowed. When he raised his head, there was nothing but clear determination in his expression.

  Nodding, Lord Ghorn regained his seat and Mar launched the cart back into the sky.

  FORTY-THREE

  Telriy clasped Mar’s arm tighter as the young man directed the cart away from the West Redoubt. The wind washing over her was cool and the warmth where their bodies touched familiar and welcome. More importantly, she knew full well the effect her closeness had upon him. Gran had been right; men were subjugated thoroughly to their own flesh and thus easily manipulated. Though he showed naiveté at the oddest times, she knew that she had captured his interest. It would not be difficult to convince him that some emotional bond – she declined even to think of it as love -- existed between them. With sufficient time, her hold on him would become strong enough that she would be able to make demands.

  She found she had no difficulty accepting the dispassionate and mercenary nature of this entirely sexual manipulation, nor the personal sacrifice that such would involve, nor the obvious and predictable consequences of it for her.

  Since the flight from the Phaelle’n ship, it had become undeniably clear that he was the key to her plans. Gran’s faint glimpses of prophecy could only point to Mar; he was the greatest user of magic that the world had seen in thousands of years. Without question, the amazing, raw power that he had displayed in just the last day demonstrated that. Having read one of the hidden books, he not only could teach her what it contained but also facilitate her discovery of the others. His knowledge and talent must be slaved to her will and she would do all that was necessary to accomplish that.

  She turned her head and put it on his shoulder, snuggling contentedly. Whatever she must do, she would become a wizard.

  FORTY-FOUR

  “What’s all this?” Mar snapped, stopping short as he passed from the inner gatehouse tunnel into the main courtyard. Telriy, who had grasped his hand to run alongside him, stopped as well, gazing about at the raucous activity in keen interest. She had refused Lord Ghorn’s offer of a private room in the barbican, insisting that she would remain with Mar.

  Berhl laid down a stylus on a standing desk and saluted. The desk looked as if it had been knocked together quickly from cutoffs, with a brick chip placed under one of the crooked, mismatched legs to level it. Scraps of paper covered in calculations and rough sketches piled its top.

  “Well, sir, Ulor was telling me how you thought you might need more skyships, so we’ve laid additional keels.”

  Dozens upon dozens of workmen, mostly legionnaires and marines laboring with unceasing haste, crowded the courtyard, and at least four more skyships were in various stages of construction. Timbers and planks were strewn all about, older men and boys carried burdens, and numerous teams worked saws. Hardly a square armlength of the space remained unoccupied and a considerable noise echoed about.

  “Where did you get all the wood?” Mar asked absently, experiencing a moment of glorious relief. Exuberant, he wanted to slap the fugleman on the back, but restrained this alien impulse. The evacuation of the Old Keep, and perhaps even the
West Redoubt, no longer seemed an utterly impossible task.

  Berhl grinned. “We’ve begun wrecking out the roof and the top floor of the Central Tower, sir. Didn’t expect that we would need it much longer in any case.”

  “What did you do with the women and children from the bailey and the tower?”

  “Moved them to the cellars. Likewise, I didn’t expect that they would have to be there long.

  Mar made a noncommittal noise. “Is the first one completed?”

  “Aye, sir. Both decks and the pilot platform, though we lapped hull planks only on the knife of the bow to shed the wind. We used heavy cargo nets amidships and to the stern. And there’s no proper roof for the upper deck. Just what tarps we could scrounge.”

  “Alright. I’m going to take it up to prove it.”

  “Would you like me to come along, sir?” Berhl asked, his expression clearly indicating that he had much more important things to do.

  “No, there’s no need of that. How long till the other skyships are ready?”

  “We’ll have another finished before supper and all of them done by midnight. Will you be able to put all of them to flight?”

  Mar shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m working on it.”

  Berhl looked grave. “We’re all hoping that you succeed, sir.”

  “I’ll do my best, Berhl.”

  “Aye, sir. We know you will.” Berhl pursed his lips, regarding Mar steadily. “Sir?”

  “What is it, Berhl?”

  “Word is that the Monks have taken the East Redoubt. Is that true?”

  Mar saw no need to lie. “From what we saw from the sky, the Phaelle’n legions have entered the Citadel from the North and East. They are at the cross of the Transverse and Transept. Lord Ghorn expects us to be under attack here within the hour.”

  Berhl nodded determinedly and then saluted.

  Feeling decidedly awkward but knowing that it was expected of him, Mar returned the fugleman’s salute and turned away, taking off at a brisk clip toward the east corner of the yard and the original skyship. A half-finished keel swarmed by better than a score sweating men blocked the direct route, and he was made to detour, following its length along the aisle formed by it and the nearly complete adjacent skyship.