by Garon Whited
“I don’t know. I suppose you can ask the gods. Most other religions have only enough men to guard their temples, not field a force.”
“A few dozen priests praying on our side couldn’t hurt.”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ll be sure to ask. I’ll also ask you if we have sufficient supplies to feed an army.”
“In Carrillon? I believe so. Whatever the ships bring with them we will also recover.”
“I’d rather take what we have on hand than wait for them, if that’s all right.”
“You are the King,” she pointed out, “and the Queen has called for you.”
“Good. I’d also like to have Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar assigned to me.”
“They are your knights, Your Majesty.”
I made no comment on the mocking tone. She did have a point.
“I meant I’d like them reassigned to my personal service. I’m going to want them to handle a lot of details—we’re readying another army, after all—as well as help me plan and execute a war.”
“May they meet with more success in your service than in mine.”
“Thank you. But they did pretty well. Liam’s alive and coming home, isn’t he?”
“That’s true,” she admitted, tiredly. “I am thankful for that.”
“Having a hard time?”
“In many ways. It is sometimes difficult to… steer the kingdom. Nobles, merchants, priests, wizards… everyone wants something at the expense of someone else.”
“Sounds like politics,” I agreed.
“May I ask a question?” she said, suddenly.
“You’re the Queen. More importantly, you’re Lissette. You can ask anything you like.”
“When Liam takes the throne, if I still live, will you take me wherever it is you go?”
“What do you mean?”
“You must go somewhere—beneath the mountains, across the sea, even to the moon for all I know—when you are not here, in the kingdom. I have often wondered where you have gone, what you have seen. If I am not too old and frail… when Liam is crowned King of Karvalen—a subject of His Imperial Majesty, of course… will you take me away and show me wonders?”
She sounded so wistful. What was I going to say? I’m the one who trapped her into being the ruler of a kingdom. It only seemed fair to try and make up for that.
“Of course. Assuming we both survive so long.”
“Always assuming,” she agreed, rising. “Very well. If you will return me to my palace, I shall attempt to persuade more of the witches of Kamshasa that their interests align with ours. With mine, rather.”
“As always, I am at your service.” I offered her my arm and our bodyguards escorted us to the gate room. I contacted what’s-his-name, her magician, and we worked to reestablish a gate. It went much more smoothly this time. Lissette and her bodyguards stepped through the portal. I closed it and headed back to the scrying room. I, too, had some calls to make.
Rethven, Thursday, March 22nd, Year 9
The first thing I did was pop down to the local Temple of Shadow and my dial-a-deity secure line. The smoke from the brazier billowed up and formed a face.
“Let me see if I understand you properly,” he said, once I explained. “You want me to talk to the various gods up here and see if they’re willing to send priests along with you on a holy crusade?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“That’s what they’re going to hear.”
“Look, we’ve got a good arrangement going in Karvalen. Everybody is getting along. Now this fake Lord of Light is rocking the boat and preparing to steal their farms, if I may mix metaphors. He’s doing the whole ruling in the world thing, which I gather is frowned upon.”
“Yeah. I’ve had a little blowback about you being the King of Karvalen. We get away with it because you’ve installed a Queen, stayed out of it, and we’ve been good about sharing the pie.” He coughed slightly and added, “The others may be taking advantage of the mutual-benefits idea to keep an eye on us. Or they’re taking advantage of us taking advantage of a loophole.”
“Seems fair. Maybe you can persuade them to treat this similarly. He’s trying to rule kingdoms, but he wants to stamp out other religions. Taken to the extreme, he’s trying to kill them all by starving them to death.”
“That may be his ultimate goal, but I don’t think he’s breaking any rules about ruling.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember how I said he’s not talking to anyone? He’s sitting up here, fat and happy, minding his own business while his followers do all this on their own. I’m not sure I can get a consensus on whether or not interfering is kosher.”
I sat down on the altar and pondered.
“That is a bit of a conundrum,” I admitted. “Could he have his own vox dei? This is a private channel, right?”
“Yes. I suppose he could. I mean, you’ve built one for me. Anyone who’s seen the thing could work out how to duplicate it. Our temple doesn’t discriminate. If someone wants to wander in, sit down in the front row, and chant along, they can.”
“Got it. Is there any way to tell if he’s using something like it?”
“Not without sending someone into his temples. Even then, if they don’t see it, that only means they didn’t see it, not that there isn’t one.”
“I understand. So much for that. But what about getting real-world help from the gods?”
“Depends on what you want.”
“Mostly, I don’t want to step on their toes. If someone can assure us fair weather for battle, help heal the sick and injured, take the load off me so I don’t have to personally escort the dead, assure us good fortune in hunting, salvaging, and scavenging, even give us better-than-average statistics when it comes to gopher holes and broken legs, I’m for it.”
“Hmm,” he said, a smoky hand appearing and rubbing his jaw. “I’m not sure when was the last time a dozen different religions all joined in to throw a war party.”
“It doesn’t hurt to ask, does it?”
“Up here? Yes. It’ll start a debate and probably an argument. Still, if you want to visit a variety of local churches and suchlike, you can ask the priests directly. They might see the wisdom in helping fight off a mob of awfulness. At least then the gods can look at the Shining One and look innocent. ‘What? I didn’t tell them to go do anything. They decided it on their own. Just like your followers.’ That sort of thing.”
“That’s fair, I guess. I’ll have Beltar send Banners to anybody who might be useful.”
So I did. Beltar promised to have a list for me by sunset. We also sent word to assemble the various dispositions of the Knights of Shadow.
I personally visited the Temple of Flame in Karvalen—excuse me, in the city of Vios—to chat with Tianna and Tymara. Tymara insisted on sitting on my lap and casting cantrips—little spells, making small lines of light. I divided my attention between her and discussing the idea of a Priestess of the Flame coming along to the war. It was a rather chaotic conversation, at least to me.
“You want the Priestesses of the Flame to go with you to a foreign country to support your troops in a holy crusade against the Church of Light?”
“It sounds better when I say it.”
“You don’t say it that way.”
“That’s why it sounds better,” I agreed.
“Provus! Look! I can make green!”
“Yes, I see that, and I’m very pleased. Can you make a green triangle?”
“What’s a triangle?” Tymara asked. I drew one in the air and she started working on one of her own. I turned my attention back to Tianna.
“Grandfather, I agree with your war, but there are three Priestesses of the Flame. One of them can’t leave her bed of coals for more than a few hours. One of them is far too young for the duties. And one is a mother to a child, as well as the Priestess of the Temple in Karvalen.”
“Vios,” I corrected. “I got tired of the multip
le-Karvalen confusion and I’m renaming the city.”
“Vios, then,” she agreed. “I want to help. I will help, in whatever way I can, but I can’t leave the temple.”
“What about the lesser priestesses?”
“They’re fine for day-to-day worship, but the Miracles are for me to perform.”
“Provus? Is this good?” Tymara held up a bright-green triangle. It was hollow, formed of three connected lines, and none of the lines was the same length. Nevertheless, it met the criteria.
“It’s an excellent triangle,” I assured her. “Now, can you fill it in?”
“That’s easy!”
“—with a different color?”
“Hmm,” she replied, and her thin little eyebrows drew down as she frowned in concentration. The tip of her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as she scowled at her spell-work.
“Miracles are yours, not for a lesser priestess, got it,” I said to Tianna. “But could you spare one or two of them? You have to stay, I get that, but could you send one of the lesser priestesses to help heal the army, keep them warm in the cold—no, that far south, even at this time of year, maybe they can deflect some of the heat. Or encourage fires when we want to burn gates, discourage them when the enemy lobs flaming oil at us. Whatever they can do to help.”
Tianna nodded, tapping her lips with one finger while she looked up and to her left.
“Yes… yes, I think we can do that. One from here and one from Mochara, perhaps. Possibly two from here. Mom can’t participate in some of the more mundane tasks, so she needs her priestesses more than we do… I’ll talk with her and with the Mother and see.”
“Thank you. Bear in mind, I’m only asking. You’re allowed to tell me you can’t spare anyone at all, you know.”
“But we want to help. Well, I do.”
“Me, too!” Tymara piped up. “How are we helping?”
“We haven’t figured that out, yet,” Tianna assured her. “As soon as we know what to do, we’ll let you know.”
“Oh. Okay.” Tymara returned to filling in her triangle. It kept filling in with the same color as the border.
“I appreciate it,” I told Tianna. “If you’d be so kind as to let other religions know you’re all for assisting the troops against the tyranny of the Lord of Light—the false one, that is—it would also help.”
“I’ll mention it to some of the others. The ones we get along with, anyway.”
“I can’t ask for more.”
“I have a triangle,” Tymara announced, holding up a glowing icon. It had green borders and a green interior, but it was two different shades of green.
“So you do.”
“It’s green,” she pointed out.
“Yes, it is. Two different shades of green.”
“But I wanted yellow.”
“You’ll get it.”
“Show me.”
I looked to Tianna for help, but she was already gliding serenely from the room. I settled in to give a spell lesson to the most adorable of my current descendants. Things were in progress. That was the important thing.
Later, Bronze and I galloped up the Kingsway again so I could get on the magic mirror to Bob. His gods might be locked in a spire of stone, but his people weren’t. A dozen elves sneaking into someone’s city could be devastating. A few thousand screaming orku charging like a mob of sword-wielding monsters could be helpful, too. I wondered how hard they would be to organize.
Bob accepted the call and bowed like a reed in the wind, only more gracefully.
“Good news,” I told him. “I think I can get an elf onto the moon. Getting all the elves there is more of a problem, but mostly one of time and terminal velocity. Do you have any magical devices you can use to slow a fall?”
“There are such devices,” Bob agreed. “Boots, cloaks, rings—many things that will save one’s life from a long fall. Some are more efficacious than others. Some boots and gloves can be used along a wall to cling, for example. The magic of some cloaks can be made to catch the air and, if properly used, guide oneself to a softer landing.”
“Imagine you were dropped out of a cloud to plummet toward a vast plain of rock. Nothing to grab, nothing to slide against, and no soft spot to aim for.”
“What you describe is more difficult, but not impossible.”
“Good. Every elf who wants to go home will need one.”
“I do not understand why, but I understand the requirement. I will see to it all are so informed.”
“To enhance your understanding and increase the likelihood of success, listen. I don’t think I can penetrate the shield around the moon without breaking it, which rather defeats the purpose. On the other hand, I can send someone through the shield, but they will fall from the edge of the sky all the way to the ground. I hope to observe them on the surface of the moon and see them signal success. If we do succeed, the elves who fight for me in this war can start going home.”
“I thank you for your kindness. I understand you perfectly.”
“On another note of some urgency, how restless is the population of Vathula?”
“Moderately. They still contest among themselves the smaller territories of old, despite being united under a single banner. They are unruly, but those who come to blows are merely incidental. In ten generations, I believe we can breed out the majority of their aggressive nature.”
“Would you like to send the most unruly and troublesome somewhere far away?”
“Such a prospect is not unwelcome, Dread Lord,” he admitted, placing his hand over where his heart should be.
“I may want to use them as shock troops against a bunch of unruly humans.”
“Then you will want them armed and believing they are to be soldiers.”
“They are to be soldiers.”
“Forgive me, Dread Lord. I had thought your soldiers were precious to you.”
I couldn’t grind my teeth, but I did bite down rather hard. He was right. Soldiers are people I give a damn about. I have a hard time caring about the life or death of a bunch of orku and galgar, trolls, ogres, giants—whatever Bob might have under those mountains and in those valleys.
“You make a good point,” I admitted. “They’re not. But let them believe they are.”
“As you wish, Na’irethed zarad’na. Where do you wish them to gather?”
“Where is most convenient for you?”
“Vathula, and the pass thereof.”
“See to it.”
“At once, Dread Lord.”
I cut the connection and went to my laboratory. There were crystals that needed charging, and plenty of them. Best to get them started as soon as possible.
Rethven, Saturday, March 24th, Year 9
The ships are still on their way north and navigating the Dragon’s Teeth, or the Fang Rocks, or whatever the hell the passage is called. Nobody seems to care. I’m not sure if that’s because of the agreement between the Queen of Karvalen and the Pirate King or if it’s because there are still hundreds of potential combatants standing on the decks just itching to kill someone. Either way, I suspect they’ll be unmolested on their way home.
Out of all the worshippers of the Lord of Shadow, all through the kingdom and a bit beyond, the Temple of Shadow has almost three thousand mounted knights. A few hundred of them are almost-knights—dusks?—and wouldn’t be going anywhere if there wasn’t a holy crusade. The regular trainees are staying behind, of course, as are many of the priests. Someone has to mind the store.
The knights are impressive, as always. The Temple doesn’t use the grow-your-own-giant spells with the same obsessive regularity Torvil and Kammen did, but the spells are still popular. Most of the knights tower over me. On average, they’re at least six-foot-five, I think. Taller, of course, in armor.
The dusks—I’m going to call them that because it suits my warped sense of humor and because it’s shorter than “knight-trainees elevated to the status of knight-combatants for the duration of the
war.” Dusks. Almost-knights. Live with it.—The dusks have been standing vigils for a while, now, so most of them have their shadow-shells of carbon-composite armor. The ones who don’t are wearing steel armor. At least everyone has their own weapons and a horse.
Oh, and the horses! Those grow-your-own-giant spells work perfectly well on animals of all sorts—human, dazhu, horse, you name it. They’re a bit impractical on food animals. The animal grows bigger, but it eats so much the cost cuts into the profits. There’s a happy medium, and it’s fairly low. But horses! The largest of the things are taller than I am, a few almost approaching Bronze’s size, but built far more heavily for bone and muscle. If horses had bodybuilding competitions, these things would casually drag home a ten-ton trophy.
I’m also delighted someone had the bright idea of enchanting barding for them. I didn’t know the Knights of Shadow had a requirement of magical armor and protective devices for their horses. Someone—someone insubstantial but important—suggested if they couldn’t take care of their mounts properly, they didn’t deserve to have them. Leather and spider silk were suddenly in demand for making a sort of brigandine horse-armor—along with the spells to enchant it.
I’ve always felt the weakness of a mounted knight is somewhere around the cannon bone—the equivalent of a human shinbone in a horse. My altar ego seems to feel the same. There are patterns for making what I can only describe as pants for horses, specifically to protect their legs.
Bronze approved. I defer to her opinion on all things horse-related.
Diogenes and I already did our scry-scouting around cities and towns in the three kingdoms. After I discussed with Lissette the ideas of how to tackle them, narrowing down our arrival point was relatively quick. All that was left was how to get there.
I was using shift-booth tents, of course. With the difficulties of assembling a fleet made obvious, I prepared for this. Sure, we could probably have sailed across the sea—a couple of weeks from now. If time wasn’t an issue, we could probably have marched north and across the Frozen Sea, all the way to the Edge of the World and begun our sweep south from there. But, for now, H’zhad’Eyn was still a not-quite-conquered nation. If they can’t muster up thousands of peasants for human wave attacks, they might be more cautious about approaching invaders. Hopefully, this also meant we would have smaller waves of attackers to practice on. In a month? Who knows?