"Start diverting. Knight-Commander, are your armsmen ready to embark?"
"I gave mustering orders before I departed, my lord king. Will the skyships be able to pick up my men from their bivouac or should I send word to march them into the city?"
"Berhl," Mar asked, "you can throw up some temporary mooring docks, can't you?"
"Aye, my lord king. I'll have crews start right away."
Mar placed his finger on the northern Plydyrii city which was the last stronghold of the Brotherhood. "Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs, I want you to lay siege to Bhaestryndt and make plans for an air and land assault on the Phaelle'n positions as soon as is convenient. Coirneals Aerlon and Relvhm will use their forces to mop up any remaining Phaelle'n resistance in the south, but if you see that you need the Skyship Corps, it is at your immediate disposal."
"Yes, my lord king.
Mar eyed Mhiskva. "We should postpone the conference. I could take Number One back out to Plydyre."
The Gaaelfharenii nodded in ready agreement. "Of course, my lord king. However, I should point out that the envoys are already on their way and it is too late to contact them before they arrive. When they reach Mhajhkaei, I can inform them that you have gone to Plydyre to wage war, but many of them will, I am certain, believe that the place of an Emperor is not in the middle of a small battle that can be commanded and won in short order by his loyal officers but rather on his throne where he would have the enhanced perspective to oversee the full scope of the conflict. It is possible that a few of the envoys might incorrectly perceive this as a slight, suspecting that you do not place commensurate value on their advice and support, and perhaps take insult. Should this happen, they might not readily respond to a second Imperial summons. This eventuality would seriously undermine our efforts to gain the enthusiastic contribution of the Sister Cities and limit our access to their workforces, trained armsmen, and resources."
"Huh. All that just to say that I can't go?"
"You are my king and emperor. It is not my place to gainsay you."
Mar made sour face. "No, of course not. Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs, if feel that you need the assistance of Number One to take Bhaestryndt, then all that you have to do is to send a courier and I'll come immediately."
"Yes, my lord king."
"Berhl, how about the new corps?"
"II Corps needs at least another month's training, my lord king. We could send them to relieve the Skyship Corps so that Relvhm could move up toward Bhaestryndt, but I'd not want to put them straight into battle."
"There is also the problem of senior officers, my lord king," Dhrasnoaeghs added. "Commander Aaeyorlyaeg, who is currently in charge of the corps, is a recalled pensioner who is over ninety and he has no staff whatsoever. While I am certain that he would bravely face the challenge, he might best be employed to make ready to train the soon to be forming III Corps. Also, none of the II Corps' legions has a full compliment of officers and only two have commanders. The legates and the fuglemen have been making do while the focus is on training, but I would hesitate to field the corps without a solid command structure in place."
"Can you transfer experienced officers from your corps?"
"Some, but not enough to fill all the holes without hamstringing my own force."
"Mhiskva, is there someone that we could promote a few ranks?"
"I feel that it would be imprudent to raise a junior officer to command an entire corps, my lord king."
"What about Lord Hhrahld?"
"Lord Hhrahld has the training and experience, but placing him in command would restrict our ability to use his and Wilhm's special skills."
Mar thought a moment. "It'll have to be Aerlon then. Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs, when you arrive at Plydyre, inform him that he has been promoted and that he is to make preparations to take command of II Corps when it arrives. He can transfer any of his Scouts and any of the Plydyrii that he has been working with. That cutthroat fisherman Mehhglendt comes to mind, but he has total discretion."
"Yes, my lord king."
"Now that we have a foothold in Bronze," Mar told the three men, "we're going to take advantage of it in any way that we can."
TWELVE
Last Awakening
(Secondday, Waxing, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)
Winter cantonment of the Northern Sept of the People
As soon as Llylquaendt emerged from the tent, his five wives surrounded him with solicitous care, placing furs and quilted blankets upon his shoulders against the chill given off by the snow that hid yet in the shade, pressing a cup of heated and spiced mare's milk into his hands, and constantly insinuating their tall, fur-wrapped and sturdy forms to shield his body from the cutting wind. This last incidentally placed their flesh between any potential danger and his, but he preferred not to think too often about the fact that all of them would willingly sacrifice their lives to preserve his.
He would have considered none of his wives comely in the long ago. They were too strong featured, scarred, and sinewy to conform to the decadent and plush standards of beauty promoted during ancient times. But they were all intelligent though unlearned, expert in the rigors of survival in the Waste, and constantly attentive to his wellbeing.
Captivity, however, be it benign and pampered, was still captivity. While none of the Gheddessii ever raised a weapon to him or impeded his path in any manner and his presence with them was by his own choice, he felt captive all the same.
Always before when he had left his stasis coffin, he had been free to go wherever his impulse might lead, to travel to any part of the world, to divert on a whim from his intended course to sample any vistas or taste any delicacy. Now, to bring the hope of progress through magic to these last wretched descendants of his people, he must remain day after dreadful day in this simple village. The only thing that he had to look forward to was the arduous trek to their spring cantonment.
The cold of winter had stayed far later this year. The crisp air of the desert frosted his breath as he moved about to work the kinks out of his aching joints. All five of the women hovered near, three watching outward with the seeking eyes of hunters, two watching him to make sure that he did not stumble.
The only thing worse than having five wives all pregnant at the same time was having five pregnant female Gheddessii warriors as wives who had sworn to see no harm come to him. They would not even let him go to make water alone.
At first, he had naively consulted with The One Who Sees to understand the policies of a polygamous Gheddessii household, but had learned with some confusion that the tribe was rigidly monogamous. Their social penalties for infidelity bordered on the cruel. However, further quiet investigation had revealed that liberal unspoken exceptions were often made where either spouse was afflicted with infertility or where accident, war, or disease had taken the last offspring and a family group was in danger of extinction. The latter was the dispensation that had been applied in Llylquaendt's case.
For the sake of what shreds of dignity he might still claim, he had spurred the advances of all those under the age of thirty. At that, his still felt that his hard-eyed and weather-worn wives were too much his junior. He would have raised this minimum, but the natural decrees of human reproduction forbade it. He had also only considered the overtures of women that his portable instruments indicated had some detectable trace of magenfolk blood. Even so, he had felt compelled to reject two dozen otherwise eligible suitors simply on the basis of his fear that he would not be able to remember all their names.
He had also spurned out of hand any who were not clear-eyed volunteers, turning his back on any daughters presented by their kin.
Myleu, a statuesque warrior, was a widow of some eight years who had deemed all of her various suitors unworthy of the memory of her still mourned husband. Beasl was an uncommonly intelligent woman who found the daily life of her tribe uninteresting and oppressive. Kylii had a large, unlovely scar that disfigured an otherwise pl
ain-featured face. Mryeen, the oldest, was a stocky woman who had buried two husbands and three stillborns -- she thought Llylquaendt would change her luck. Plri, the youngest at thirty, simply wanted a child without having to assume the extensive familial obligations that a Gheddessii marriage normally entailed.
Of course, all of his wives were frighteningly proficient with the bow and the knife.
"Myleu, I am going to see The One Who Sees," he told the leader of his guardian wives. "I want to hear more of the songs."
Myleu, whose name meant Throat Cutter, had been his first wife and her baby was the farthest -- four months -- along. While she had taken the confirmation by one of the simple spells of his kit of her pregnancy in stride, he had known nothing but worry for her child and the subsequent children that he had dutifully sired, children that he might live to see born but would surely not live to see grown.
His knowledge of prenatal care was rudimentary, but he had used standard spells from his combat repertoire to immunize her, his other wives, and everyone else who would sit still long enough against all diseases and parasites that the soldiers of his time had been subject to. Hopefully, that would provide a significant general health improvement and contribute to a healthy pregnancy. He had also insisted that all of the warrior women vary their diets from the standard horse/chicken/goat-flesh/milk, dipping into one of the caches of gold that he had long ago secreted along the edge of the Waste to send with the tribe's traders to purchase vegetables and fruits from the outer farms of the Ice River Valley. Other than that, he could perform minor first aid procedures with his portable instruments, but the vast majority of the medical magics that might possibly be needed at a childbirth could only be accessed using the installations of the bunker. Because of the distance that must be traveled on foot across the accursed desert, he considered the bunker for all practical intents and purposes inaccessible. He certainly never expected to see it again.
"We will be ready to go after you have eaten, husband."
Llylquaendt sighed. "I traveled the world alone for nigh on eighty years, altogether, but now you deem me incapable of walking a hundred yards through the camp by myself?"
"Of course not, husband. Now, sit by the fire with Beasl and Kylii while we prepare your meal."
With another sigh, he acceded to the inevitable and sat on the bench. The two women crowded close, wrapping him in their arms to share their warmth. Beasl, whose familiar name meant Smiles at Death, began to rub his gnarled hands to warm them. Kylii -- Two Knives To The Heart -- produced a comb and dealt with his sole remaining vanity, his hair and beard.
When finally the women determined that he was properly fed and his appearance deemed suitable for public consideration, they accompanied him through the cantonment to the tents of The One Who Sees. Very few people were about this morning. The Gheddessii had no problem with sleeping in on cold days. They also planned to march to their spring cantonment in the high pastures without stopping along the way, a journey of at least four days, and were taking it easy before the taxing ordeal.
The Gheddessii seer's portable dwelling, secured for the winter in one of the stone-walled corrals, though a bit larger than the average, was not more finely furnished or outfitted than any of the adjacent ones. As far as the Gheddessii were concerned, wealth could only be measured in livestock and descendants.
The One Who Sees -- he had no given name, only the hereditary designation -- had certainly done what he could to insure the second, with his six sons and four daughters and all their associated children and spousal kin living together in a much extended household. The elder two, a daughter and a son, stood outside the entrance flap of the tent, waiting.
"Greetings, Magic Father," the daughter whose name Llylquaendt could not recall said, opening the flap. "The One Who Sees has been expecting you."
It was impossible to surprise a family who practiced foresight.
Llylquaendt had been able to convince only his wives to call him by his real name, and that only in the privacy of their own tent. There had been some slight solace in the discovery that the slightly crude Imperial phrase "Magic Maker" had been a mistranslation.
His wives and the siblings followed him inside, but all took places on the rug-strewn floor a polite distance from the warm circle of candle light that surrounded The One Who Sees. Among the Gheddessii, only the very old used stools. In general, they lounged upon cushions and rugs, as the seer did now.
Seating himself slowly to avoid any strain to his back, Llylquaendt took his accustomed place on a pile of feather-stuffed lavender pillows identical to those upon which the seer reclined. The One Who Sees eyed him just as one would to take the measure of a horse.
"Are you resting well, Magic Father? Is there anything that can be done to improve your comfort? Would you like something to eat or drink?"
"I am as well as I can be and my wives take very good care of me," Llylquaendt assured the man without irritation.
"That is good to hear. What songs will you hear today, Magic Father?"
The illiterate Gheddessii kept all records in oral form, either as lyric poems or songs. Every significant prophetic vision that had visited the seers of this tribe had been put to verse and passed down through the generations. The current seer had boasted that he could sing nearly seven thousand songs without error.
The songs often contradicted or were too vague to have real meaning, but did include sufficient accurate references to things that the Gheddessii could not possibly have knowledge of. This latter characteristic was sufficiently novel to intrigue the always inquisitive Pyrai medic.
Llylquaendt shrugged. "You choose. I have enjoyed all that you have shared with me."
The seer rubbed his stubbly jaw with the backs of his fingers. "Then I will sing today the song of my great-great-uncle, who in the Third Death Winter made a short song about the World Beyond."
The World Beyond was the Gheddessii's term for the lands on the other of the mountains, literally all the world outside of ours.
The seer began in his strong if scratchy voice:
"In the time of the glory of the Gheddessii, P'sn'ghis'thoa will die a lonely death, betrayed by his guiding n'loomq."
P'sn'ghis'thoa was a corrupted Pyrai phrase that meant the one with no legs who flies. This, Llylquaendt had determined, could only be Mar, the magenfolk king of the Mhajhkaeirii. Mar, in the persona of P'sn'ghis'thoa, had shown up with remarkable frequency in the songs of the Gheddessii.
N'loomq was an entirely Gheddessii word that meant spirit guide or ancient master, depending upon context.
"P'sn'ghis'thoa will lead his tribe against the spawn of the sorcerer."
"And the slaughter will be great."
"The spells of the sons of the sorcerer will destroy the boats that need no water of the tribe of P'sn'ghis'thoa.
"And the tribe of P'sn'ghis'thoa will be overthrown."
"Then the archer of P'sn'ghis'thoa will rise up and slay all that come before him, but the sons of the sorcerer will be too many, and P'sn'ghis'thoa will fall."
"In his despair, the archer of P'sn'ghis'thoa will break his accursed bow."
This archer could be no other than Quaestor Eishtren, whose bow was so suffused with flux that even Llylquaendt had been able to sense the disturbance it made in the background ether.
"And the szor'ghi'cha will consume the sons of the sorcerer and all about from one horizon to the next."
"And the sons of the sorcerer will not rise up again."
"And the world will shake."
"And the water will cover the grave of P'sn'ghis'thoa."
"And when the water goes back, the land will be different."
"And the Death Winter will come again."
"And there will be much distress among all the people."
"And the sorcerer will return to claim his prize."
The seer stopped and took a sip of ldgmt, a spirituous concoction made from fermented desert plants, to soothe his throat. "Do you need to hear
it again?"
"No," Llylquaendt replied, feeling a moment of sharp concern at the implication of the song. "My understanding of your tongue has improved very much of late. There was one word, though -- szor'ghi'cha. What does it mean?"
"It is an old word that we do not use anymore. I do not know what it means."
Content with the company of his own thoughts, The One Who Sees sat unspeaking while Llylquaendt puzzled over the three syllables.
His intuition led him to first try to correlate them with a Pyrai word or phrase. While the Gheddessii had many words in their language that they had borrowed or adapted from other tongues and also had many words relating to their daily lives that had been created in the last few thousand years, the basic spine of their language was Pyrai.
Several possibilities occurred to him, but none of them made any sense in this context. When the word thorghetkh presented itself, he felt his heart constrict. A thorghetkh was a lost hope, the desperate act of a doomed man. It was also the name of an extremely powerful military spell, a weapon of incredible destruction also known as a Blaze of Glory. Thorghetkhs had been used indiscriminately in the last war of high magic civilization and had been the weapon of choice in the Remnants' war of mutual extermination.
"This is not a good thing that will happen," he told The One Who Sees.
"Good or bad, it is what will come."
"Is there another song that speaks of this?"
"No, but I have dreamed of the death of P'sn'ghis'thoa eight times. It will be soon. We will move south as soon as the snows have gone off the lower peaks. All of the tribes will join at the plateau near the southern pass and wait for the death of P'sn'ghis'thoa. We will be safe from the upset of the world there and the peoples of the World Beyond will be much weakened. In the summer after this one, those peoples will be scattered and much lessened. We will cross the mountains so that we may inherit their places and leave this harsh land forever. It has been foretold that we will do this."
Warrior (The Key to Magic) Page 8