Warrior (The Key to Magic)

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  "I'd give up my legs to fly!" Mlehn exulted.

  Mar shook his head, not quite frowning. "No, Mlehn, you wouldn't."

  Hryen dashed back in. He had grown a span and a half over the winter and had an energy that seemed to have no end. "Signifier Aael says that both will arrive within the hour. He also told me to tell you that Prince Kyort craves an audience."

  "Then I suppose you'll have to go back and tell Aael that I can see the prince right now, if that's convenient with the prince."

  Hryen threw another polished salute and bolted away again.

  Clearly still in the negative camp, Lyeut asked, "Do you have to wear them all the time?"

  "No, but I'm going to try to wear them as much as possible so that I can get better at walking with them. I want it to look as if I have real legs."

  "Why is that?" she asked with the utter guilelessness of the very young.

  On impulse, Mar confessed, "I'm re-growing my own and I don't want anyone to know until I'm done."

  "You can do that?" Mlehn asked, eyes growing wide.

  Mar laughed. "I'm working on it, but it's an imperial secret, so you can't tell anyone."

  "Not even Aunt Yhejia?" Lyeut demanded. "She told us that she has to know about everything that goes on in her household. It's the law!"

  Sure that the stipulation had more to do with keeping the eye of their adoptive mother on the behavior of the Auxiliaries rather than on the actions of himself, Mar nevertheless asked, "And her household is the palace?"

  "The whole thing from the corner of the garden wall with the hole hidden behind the shrub to the top of the broken tower," Siel confirmed, no doubt repeating the definition that he had received from the Royal Seneschal.

  "Well, then, you must of course tell Yhejia."

  "What about the other Auxiliaries?" Mlehn wanted to know.

  "I suppose that they should know as well."

  "What about Signifier Aael?" Lyeut and Siel spat out practically simultaneously.

  "Yes, you can tell him."

  "What about --?"

  Before Mlehn could finish, Hryen once more returned to announce that Prince Kyort waited without, thereby saving Mar from having to approve or disapprove the sharing of the secret with every inhabitant of the palace.

  Mar thanked Hryen and walked back into his dayroom. As an experiment, rather than open one of the doors using its flux modulation, he walked up to it, braced his new legs, and pulled on the brass handle with his hand. He had to stiffen the spells in the calves and ankles to give himself enough traction to swing the large door without sliding, but did succeed in opening it without staggering overmuch.

  In the wide corridor beyond were, as always, two quads of guards and Subaltern E’hve, and all, as always, came to attention when Mar stuck his head out. Interestingly, Prince Kyort, who was tall, perhaps a decade and a half older than Mar, and shared a strong familial resemblance to his sister, also braced.

  "Come right in, Prince Kyort. I'm glad to see you up and about."

  The Praaerii noble entered and Mar manually closed the door behind him.

  "I have you to thank for that, my lord emperor," Kyort said, pausing just inside.

  "You're one of the lucky ones who respond well to my magic," Mar told him honestly. "There are many that I cannot help."

  The prince grinned. "Then I shall be sure to make an overly generous offering to the temple of Trhoozh."

  Mar swept a couple of chairs out to the island of the frayed carpet and landed them about two armlengths apart. "Would you like to sit?"

  "I've been abed far too long, my lord emperor, and if you don't mind, I would prefer to stand to work at strengthening my legs. Also, I have only a single request to make and I do not want to infringe upon your time more than is necessary."

  Mar nodded for the man to continue.

  "I plan to return to Praae tomorrow and I do not want my sister to accompany me. I would like her to remain in Mhajhkaei."

  "I have no problem with that, but I don't see that she needs my permission to stay."

  "Her stated intention is to return to Praae, which is far too close to the poison that is the Brotherhood of Phaelle for my only sister. As you may know, my wife and I are childless and Chrynn, as my only living blood relation, is heir to the throne of our city. While it is my duty and heartfelt desire to return to Praae to lead its army, I believe that Chrynn could better serve Praae if she were farther beyond the reach of the Phaelle'n assassins. Since she inherited our father's obstinacy, she has made it clear that she will not submit to an order from a brother. However, I do not believe that she will refuse an invitation from an emperor."

  "I understand." Mar thought a moment. "Yhejia has recently told me that Prince Davfydd needs tutor. She's also stipulated that the tutor be someone of, in her words, 'proper noble bearing, modest comportment, scholarly education, and unshakable dedication.' It seems to me that Lady Chrynn would satisfy her requirements and I'm afraid that I'm going to have to draft her into Imperial service."

  Showing obvious relief, Kyort bowed low. "Thank you, my lord emperor."

  As soon as the prince had departed, Mar sent all of the Auxiliaries in different directions to hunt for Mhiskva. The Gaaelfharenii had no fixed desk or official chambers, but could normally be found with Berhl either inspecting the Citadel garrison in his capacity as chief of imperial forces, receiving petitions from dignitaries in his capacity First Minister, or vetting requests for the Emperor's time or aid from common Mhajhkaeirii in his capacity as Principal Civil Magistrate (another post that Mar had invented.)

  Somewhat unusually, it took only a few minutes for the marine captain to appear.

  Mar explained what he had planned and then told Mhiskva, "She's a princess and I don't want to offend some protocol that I don't know or actually care about. Do you see any problem with this?"

  "None, my lord king. To my mind, I believe the lady to be keen enough to see Prince Kyort's hand in this, but she will not resist the wishes of her king."

  "I'd like to let her know right away, but I'm waiting to get some clothes and boots made. I noticed the two of you talking at supper yesterday."

  "Yes, my lord king, we have made an acquaintance. I will be glad to let her know that she has been summoned to imperial duty."

  "Thanks, Mhiskva."

  "My pleasure, my lord king."

  For some unknown reason, Mhiskva smiled in an uncharacteristic way when he said this.

  When the Auxiliaries had all returned, he went in to ask them, "Which of you found the First Minster?"

  Lyeut's hand shot up and she grinned. "I did! I knew right where to look."

  "Oh? Where was that?"

  "Walking along the eastern solarium promenade with Lady Chrynn. That's where he is every day at this time."

  NINETEEN

  Mar kept his artificial legs on through the visits of the tailor and cobbler, and even made a trek around the palace gardens, but by supper he had grown weary of the devices and left them off.

  Rather than have his meal in his dayroom, he sent word to Mhiskva and Berhl to meet him in the dinning hall that adjoined the kitchens. This was where most everyone else ate and for a change he wanted to be surrounded by people. When he arrived, the majority of the long tables were full. Ulor and Yhejia, their children, including Pip, and extended family, Signifier Aael and the Auxiliaries, the kitchen staff, the off-duty crew of Number One, a number of the King's Imperial Guard and various other marines and legionnaires were all present, eating, joking, talking, and generally enjoying themselves.

  Abiding by his oft expressed wishes to be freed of such disruptive ceremony at all but official functions, none snapped to attention or made other commotion when he entered the hall, though several of the younger children waved and he waved back.

  He took the first open space at the end of a bench, nodded pleasantly at his tablemates, a number of marines whom he recognized from Number One but did not know all by name, and considered the plat
ters and bowls present while a plate and tableware were passed hand to hand to him from the stacks at the end. There was a considerable variety and he had worked up a stiff appetite, but he limited himself to a small portion each of spiced beans with pork, potatoes mixed with some unidentified green vegetable, and fresh bread. There was wine and tea, but he settled for water.

  Listening to the marines' chatter, subdued no doubt by his presence, without participating, he had just started eating when Mhiskva arrived, with Berhl, Wilhm, and Lord Hhrahld in tow. The marines, who had all finished or were nearly so, quickly and cheerfully vacated the table to make room.

  "Please forgive our tardiness, my lord king," the high-captain apologized as he sat opposite. "Lord Hhrahld and Wilhm have only arrived within the hour and we were discussing the situation on Plydyre."

  With Wilhm sliding in to sit on the bench alongside Mhiskva, Lord Hhrahld taking a place to Mar's right, and all three of the Gaaelfharenii occupying the width of at least two normal sized men, the table was abruptly full again and Berhl had to fetch a stool to sit at the end of the table to Mar's left.

  "Anything I should know?"

  "There are a few isolated Phaelle'n still running free in the countryside," Lord Hhrahld replied, "and a number of bands of their conscripts have turned bandit, but all of the towns and villages are guarded, though most only with volunteers."

  "I had thought that you might stay on there for a bit longer."

  Before the Prince-Protector could respond, Wilhm said, "I have dreams. We are supposed to be here, now."

  Mar tensed. "Tell me about your dreams, Wilhm."

  "They are not good dreams."

  "What happens in your dreams?"

  "War and death. Fire and more death."

  "What else do your dreams tell you to do?"

  "Nothing."

  Mar looked at the others and found the eldest Gaaelfharenii frowning. "Lord Hhrahld, do you know something about Wilhm's dreams?"

  "No more than he has said, my lord king, but for the last few nights I have been perplexed by a dream myself. I do not remember it when I wake, but I have begun to believe that it portends a glorious end."

  "An end to what?"

  "To me, my lord king."

  For a moment, Mar thought that a shimmer passed through the background ether, a realignment of some sort or perhaps a suggestion of events to come.

  "Nothing else?"

  Lord Hhrahld nodded.

  "No future is certain. You, of all men, should know that." The Prince-Protector had, after all, been killed under the Mother of the Seas in the Waste and been returned to life.

  "Aye, but the future will arrive, whether we want it to or not."

  TWENTY

  The sorcerer, seated comfortably on the curb of the public fountain, watched Patriarch Hwraldek and his guards approach along the Avenue of the Great Victory at the Nourqerii Ford. They and the myriad others heading to the Plaza of the Empire to join the special mid-fortnight festival in celebration of the coming Summer Advent, most of whom wore traditional willow crowns laced with flowers and hauled lunches and folding stools, were oblivious to his presence, of course. The glamour that he maintained made him completely undetectable by any sense, magical or physical, by any but another equally skilled sorcerer. In all the world, there was only one that could have pierced his concealment, and he knew that Mar was nowhere near Khalar.

  At the precise moment that the sorcerer had foreseen, Hwraldek stopped to take a drink from the fountain, walking to a spot just to the sorcerer's left while the liveried armsmen formed a barrier cordon to deflect the surrounding riff raff.

  As the patriarch bent to cup his hands in the water, Waleck made the gestures and spoke the words necessary to cast the spell that would shift the patriarch and himself slightly out of kilter with the normal pace of time. He could maintain the grueling effort for only a few moments at most, but that should be sufficient to say what need be said to alter Hwraldek's path to the future.

  As Hwraldek straightened and raised the water to his mouth, his eyes widened as he took in the frozen world without, but this was the limit of his reaction.

  The sorcerer released the glamour, gave the patriarch an instant to register his presence, then said, "Patriarch Hwraldek, your noble future awaits you."

  Poise intact, Hwraldek finished his drink and shook the clinging drops from his hands. "A future awaits me, yes, as it does all men."

  "Your destiny is to rule."

  "Perhaps. I perceive that you are neither a minion of the Emperor, who I am sure would deliver his own message, most likely with fire and sword, nor of the Brotherhood of Phaelle, who communicate in a more simplistic manner."

  "You are correct. I work to insure that the world proceeds along its proper path."

  "And that would be?"

  "One in which those who have superior breeding and intelligence rule over lesser men."

  "Interesting. What would your work have to do with me?"

  "Your destiny is that you rule Khalar. The Forty-Nine have decreed it so."

  Hwraldek did not respond immediately. After a thoughtful moment, he said, "Again, perhaps. Tell me, sorcerer, what future you have seen."

  "That I cannot do. I have only come to offer this warning: Do not stand idle while opportunity awaits."

  With that and only seconds to spare before the time spell collapsed, Waleck ported to the balcony of an apartment that overlooked the fountain and resumed his glamour.

  From this hidden vantage, he watched the patriarch whip his head about for a moment and then gesture sharply for his guards to make him a path, not to continue along the street toward the Plaza, but to return to his villa.

  The sorcerer smiled, knowing that at last all was in place.

  Without this prod, Hwraldek would have remained cautious, contented himself with minor intrigues, and not attempted to challenge Mar's power.

  Now, he would plot rebellion.

  TWENTY-ONE

  17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 330th Day of Glorious Work

  Year One of the New Age of Magic

  (Sixthday, Waxing, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)

  Plythtwaelndt Fortress, north of Mhevyr

  "Preeminence, the era of the heavily armored armsman is finished," Whorlyr pronounced as he strode into the command room. He watched the Archdeacon's face for a reaction, but as always found Traeleon's expression unreadable.

  "Are you suggesting that the Salient Order should discontinue the training of legionnaires?" the Archdeacon inquired with a lifted eyebrow.

  "Of course not, Preeminence," Whorlyr replied. "However, the superiority of magical transport and weaponry over the sword and shield is unmistakable. As soon as we have enough bolt throwers, we should discard the sword entirely. With no need to close with the enemy, chainmail, plate, and heavy leather will become useless weight."

  "Possibly," the Archdeacon allowed. "I take it that your victory was overwhelming?"

  "My battalion destroyed the Yhmghaegnor Horse Guards in less than an hour."

  "What of the Yhmghaegnor prince and noblemen?" Bhrucherra wanted to know.

  "They were riding with the Horse Guards. There were no survivors."

  "You encountered no difficulties with crossfire?" the Archdeacon asked.

  "No, Preeminence."

  "The city?"

  "Untouched, as instructed."

  The Archdeacon walked over to the map table. "What of the bridges?"

  There were two fast running rivers and one wide stream between Mhevyr and Yhmghaegnor. All three crossings had been considered potential barriers to the advance of Whorlyr's battalion.

  "None were guarded, Preeminence. Our scouts seized them without difficulty."

  "We should not expect that our enemies will commit this error in future," Bhrucherra warned.

  The Archdeacon drew his finger across the map from Mhevyr to Lhinstord and then to a snaking red line. "There are fords suita
ble for the Algaraemyr platforms across all the water courses from here up to Lhinstord. Beyond Lhinstord, however, the wide and deep Sand River presents a challenge."

  The Archdeacon indicated the spot where the Imperial Highway intersected the river. "Were this bridge destroyed, our invasion path would be cut off. The next nearest bridge is fifty leagues north at Pontalbeo and it may not be wide enough to accommodate the platforms. We would be forced to make a contested crossing of the river by mainly conventional means. This would provide a clear advantage to the enemy and I can envision numerous scenarios in which we would be prevented from gaining a foothold on the western bank. Moreover, granting that we did achieve the crossing, it would take a fortnight or more to ferry the platforms across on rafts. "

  "The Algaraemyr platform battalions will move like lightning, Preeminence," Whorlyr asserted. "We will cross that bridge before the Apostate's creeping legions realize what has happened."

  "Likely, but I would like to eliminate the contrary possibility. Brother Bhrucherra, place Inquisitors in positions that will permit us to keep both ends of the bridge under observation. At the proper moment, we shall insert Salient teams armed with bolt throwers via the Emerald Gate to secure it."

  "It will be done, brother."

  "Director of Forces, prepare the host. You have a fortnight. We go to war at dawn of Seventhday, Waning."

  TWENTY-TWO

  143rd Year of the Reign of the City

  (Tenthday, Waxing, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)

  Palace of the Empire, Mhajhkaei

  Lady Rhavaelei closed the thin flannel robe over her bare skin and tied the sash. The form-fitting garment barely reached her mid-thigh and the cool air passing through her open windows made goosebumps chase themselves up the exposed skin of her legs. She had considered wearing a camisole of lace and gossamer underneath, but had decided that the still youthfully firm flesh of her own uncovered breasts, loins, and thighs would work best to enflame the desire of the king. It would not do to simply temp him; she must have him in her bed.