Key to Magic 03 King

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  "About time," Khei grumped.

  Mar stood up. He could leave now with the galley, but that would immediately alert the Brotherhood to his presence. If he was to have the opportunity to strip the depot unmolested, he must maintain his subterfuge at all costs. He steeled himself to wait.

  The relief file made its ponderous way up to the line of galleys and when it stopped to replace the quad at the other end, Mar saw that the officer, some sort of legate outfitted exactly like the others save for an ebony cloak fastened around his gorge with a large silver insignia, took note of his presence.

  As soon as the file stamped to a halt before Mar's galley and shifted to a rest stance, the legate jerked a thumb at the thief and demanded, "Who's that, Ceannaire?" His accent was near identical to that of the guards.

  Khei and the others came to attention. "A press-ganged laborer, Legate. The remainder of his bunch seems to have gotten lost."

  The legate smirked. "Who can blame them? Where's the Brother that's in charge of him?"

  Khei returned the legate's smirk. "He seems to have gotten lost too."

  The Droahmaerii officer harrumphed. "Well, we can't have him wandering about the docks unsupervised. "Ceannaire, have one of your men run ask what we should do with him."

  "Yes, sir. Who should we ask?"

  The legate gestured to the east. "That monk -- that is, reverend Brother -- supervising the looting -- that is, requisitioning -- of the beer on down the way."

  Ceannaire Khei fixed one of his unnamed subordinates with a significant glance and the fellow took off at a fast trot. Openly watching, Mar saw the man speak to the Phaelle'n, but instead of returning immediately, the Droahmaerii legionnaire tarried. When he finally started back, it was at the heels of the monk, who apparently had seen fit not to send instructions regarding the wayward laborer but rather bring them himself.

  Mar, with the sinking feeling that his attempt to steal the galley was about to come to naught, made ready to escape, cycling a steady infusion of flux into his boots and clothing. As the monk drew near, Mar gave him his full attention.

  Advancing with long, confident strides, the Phaelle'n pushed back his hood to uncover his head, revealing an open and not unkind expression. He was a tall man of middle years and his manner and countenance did not at all match Mar's preconception of the followers of Phaelle. In all honesty, though he had seen many at a distance and the two in Khalar at relatively close range, this was the first time that he had been face to face with a member of the Brotherhood. He had taken it for granted that some aspect of their irredeemable fanaticism would be markedly visible in their faces.

  "Good day, Legate Lheurehl," the monk began pleasantly. "I am Brother Fhsuyl. This legionnaire has told me that you wish to consult with me?"

  . "Yes, my lord." The Droahmaerii officer's attitude and tone were entirely respectful, but it was evident that they were thus by meticulous effort. "We have netted one of your stray charges." He nodded his head at Mar.

  Smiling, Brother Fhsuyl turned mild eyes on Mar and walked towards him. After but a few seconds of scrutiny, his face tightened minutely, but then relaxed again almost instantly. "Good day to you, young man. You've volunteered to progress the work of the Great Phaelle?"

  Submerging himself in his role, Mar shrugged. It seemed the most suitable answer.

  "Excellent! Thank you, young brother, for contributing your efforts to the Work!"

  "What work is that?" Mar's question popped out almost of its own accord. "I'm just a darner's helper. I don't know anything about ships and I'd like to go back home."

  "No one has brought to you the message of the Founder?" His smile broadening, Fhsuyl closed to a comradely distance. "What would be your name, young man?"

  "Whistchehl."

  "Friend Whistchehl, surely you have heard of the great power of magic?"

  Mar shrugged again. "In my family, it's not proper to criticize other folks' gods."

  Fhsuyl smiled broadly. "My dear young fellow, magic is not a member of the Forty-Nine! Magic is simply the fundamental natural order of all things. Magic is everywhere and in everything. We in the Brotherhood of Phaelle are simply scholars who seek greater understanding of that natural order."

  "My Aunt Tihldy said that sorcery killed her cousin Pheulia," Mar countered, shamelessly embroidering a story that a housemaid in Khalar had once told him. "She was just standing on her front stoop when a sorcerer disguised as an old woman passed by her farm and put a curse on her. The next day, Cousin Pheulia had this spasm, and then just fell over dead."

  "Such absurd tales are entirely based on unfounded superstition. There are no sorcerers today, as none have sufficient power to deserve that lofty title, but sorcerers, when they existed, were not despicable fiends as you have been led to believe. They were simply very skilled and accomplished practitioners of magic. Why, the ability to manipulate the ether -- the essential essence of magic -- was once as common as the ability to breath, but because of the great sins of the people of the First Age, magic was stolen from the common people."

  The monk took a small, printed book from his pocket. The green dyed cloth covers were worn and almost all of the pages had creases where they had been folded over to mark a place. "Here, let me read to you from the Ruminations of the Master."

  Fhsuyl thumbed the book open to a well-used section and began to read, his eyes barely skimming the page as if he had long memorized the passage.

  "Long ago in the First Age, the glory and power of magic shown throughout the world. All men were equal in the use of magic and magic made the lives of all men a paradise. All lived in wealth and comfort, building great towers that reached to the clouds. These dwellings had light and warmth without the burning of oil or wood. None lacked for victual or fine clothing and none suffered illness or want."

  Fhsuyl flipped over several pages. "But lo, the pride of men brought them low, and the sea rose up and the land shook and all the great cities were rent and every man that did magic or knew magic or had magic on his person was burned until he was no more."

  The monk turned to the end of the book and read again. "Thus it was that such peoples as had heeded the admonitions were brought through alive and lived and did multiply, preserving the ability to use the old magics."

  "You see, Whistchehl, magic can no longer be done by the vast majority of people, but only by those blessed with inherited Ability. The nurturing of Ability and the recovery of the magic of the First Age is the essential and overriding purpose of our fraternity. We do not worship the powerless, imagined gods of magicless men, but rather strive to reclaim the glory of magic for all mankind."

  Mar allowed his face to betray an obstinate disinterest. He did not want to encourage the monk's missionary zeal any further, and hoped that the man would quickly loose interest so that he could get back to stealing the galley.

  Brother Fhsuyl was, however, undeterred. From another pocket, he produced a broach that had a dull white stone as large as a thalar nested in an ornate, filigreed gold setting. He laid the jewelry piece in his right palm and held it so that Mar could see it clearly.

  "Here, let me show you. I have a significant Ability." The monk stroked the faceted stone with his thumb. For a moment, a dim yellow glow peeked from its heart and then quickly faded. Fhsuyl extended the jeweled piece towards Mar. "We can learn easily enough with this ancient artifact if you too possess any Ability. Simply touch the gem --"

  The Phaelle'n froze when the gem flared sharply.

  Mar likewise became completely still, then realized that this silent reaction did not match his assumed persona. "Hey, that's strange. How do you make it glow like that?"

  Brother Fhsuyl's eyebrows rose. Retracting his arm and keenly watching as the flare diminished proportionally, he tucked the broach back into its pocket.

  "I ... well, that's ... interesting. Quite interesting. Yes, quite interesting! The artifact is of course a magic Relic, friend Whistchehl. The Brotherhood of Phaelle has worked tirele
ssly for centuries to recover Relics of the First Age. This bauble is but one of a vast store of magical items that we have discovered and preserved. I have an idea! Why don't you come along with me? I'd like to show you more of our Relics and have the opportunity to tell you more about our fraternity."

  Mar allowed half a frown. "I've been making offerings every thirdday to Chaoel, Ascending Goddess of the Marvelous Loom for more than five years, and I don't think I should throw away all that goodwill by looking into some new god."

  "As I explained, my friend, magic is not a god. In fact, I must tell you that there are no gods. All things commonly attributed to the Forty-Nine are actually natural expressions of omnipresent magic."

  "Thanks all the same."

  Brother Fhsuyl's genial attitude evaporated. "I'm afraid that I must insist."

  Then, quite calmly, he stuck out his palm, fingers spread, and rapidly chanted a phrase that sounded to Mar's ears like inane gibberish.

  Mar saw-heard a cloud of whispering puce emerge from the area of the monk's palm and spread toward him. Fhsuyl was a sorcerer!

  Pushing back against the flux in instant reaction, Mar saw the cloud waver and then fade harmlessly. Outwardly, he kept his expression neutral and his body relaxed. If he was to have any hope of preserving his disguise, then he must not give any indication of his own skill at magic.

  Brother Fhsuyl's eyes widened and he jumped backward. Clearly initiating some new spell, he took a stance and windmilled his arms in a stiff gesture that caused warbling pomegranate sparks to fly in the ether.

  Again, Mar betrayed no outward reaction, but simply thwarted the weak flux modulation before it could reach him.

  The monk stiffened, clearly shocked when the magic that he expected did not materialize, and stared curiously at Mar for several long moments.

  Mar waited, ready to flee or attack, but resisting his immediate urge to do both. It seemed to him that Fhsuyl, despite the spells that he had attempted, must have very little awareness of the background flux, for it was clear that he had not sensed the source of the disruption of his magic.

  Fhsuyl turned his head from side to side, peering intently, as if to assure himself that no one else was present. Then, speaking mostly to himself, he said quietly, "Your intense Ability must provide you with some natural warding effect."

  While Mar tried to concoct a response that would sound appropriately ignorant, Fhsuyl straightened slightly, raised a hand in a commanding gesture, and called out sharply, "Legate Lheurehl, a quad if you please!"

  NINE

  In short order, Mar found himself being marched east along the quayside street by the entire file of Droahmaerii legionnaires. He had offered no resistance of any kind when the quad of legionnaires had surrounded him and his submission to their commands had been, at least to all outward appearance, absolute.

  "I still fail to understand, Brother Fhsuyl, why all of my men are required to escort one prisoner," Legate Lheurehl, marching with the monk at the head of the column, reiterated.

  "Whistchehl is of great interest to the Brotherhood, Legate. This is sum of which you need be apprised. Rest assured, I will inform my superiors of your excellent service to the Work."

  Lheurehl did not appear mollified, but he made no further protest.

  Mar was not displeased, seeing in this development his opportunity to complete his theft of the galley.

  Chaos was, of course, the perfect distraction.

  Mar looked to his right beyond the shoulders of his Droahmaerii guards as the waters of the bay opened up as they passed the bulk of the empty galley. He waited another fifty paces, then acted.

  For a breadth of three armlengths to either side, the entire length of the pavement over which he had taken his last ten steps heaved in a great shrug, bursting a full manheight upward. The scattering half-armlength sandstone blocks carried the legionnaires, Brother Fhsuyl, and Mar, shouting and flailing, with them. Mar's flying magic did the rest, catapulting everyone out beyond the curb of the quay into the scum-clouded, pea-green water.

  As the Phaelle'n and the Droahmaerii, tumbling awkwardly, plunged with explosions of spray, Mar filled his lungs with all the air that they would hold and knifed into the water, diving deep. Swimming beneath the thrashing feet of the armor-burdened legionnaires as they struggled to regain the surface, he threw all of his energy into his strokes and quickly got free of the churning men. Able only to make out dim shadows in the dark water, he found and followed the wall of the quay by touch, then swam westward. When he bumped lightly into the hull of the empty galley, he pointed his head down and sculled under it. His lungs began to burn as he crossed the keel and he redoubled his efforts, finally shooting toward the surface in the narrow channel between the ship and one next in line.

  Hidden from sight by the galleys and the quay wall, he tread water and took careful breaths, trying to make as little noise as possible. Above him, over the curb, he heard shouting and the sounds of running and waited a bit longer. When the majority of the sounds of alarm were centered to his east where the legionnaires had gone into the bay, he swam quietly toward the stern. Two anchors had been set to hold the galley against the feeble waves that stirred the bay, and their chains led out at sharp angles from eyes on the elevated steerage. He made for the nearest, shinnied up it to reach the rail, and slithered aboard.

  The steerage deck was a manheight above the main deck, which, aside from stowed oars, bare benches, and secured halyards, was empty. Crouching low so as not to be seen, he crawled to the starboard rail and raised his head for a single quick peek. Satisfied that all the guards had rushed to aide Fhsuyl and their floundering mates, he put his plan into action.

  It took only a handful of minutes to circle the galley while casting the glamour, so that a cylinder of the yodeling chartreuse completely surrounded his prize and projected upward for a goodly distance. It took hardly longer to slip the bowlines and release the anchor chains, which made a considerable rattle, and then the galley rose free of the bay. Water dripped from the hull, making a sound like light rain as the drops plunked down, but the noise was not great enough to overreach the shouting, gasping, and splashing of the Droahmaerii.

  Emboldened by his success, he looked back at the other galleys stilled tied to the quay. If he acted quickly, could he get one more before anyone realized that the first had vanished?

  He grinned, ran to the port side and made a magic assisted leap across to the second, then quickly raised and pushed it into the glamour with the first. This vessel, her deck and cargo hold stacked with crates and barrels, moved more sedately, but he had no difficulty lodging her alongside the empty one. Controlling the two at the same time proved to be simple. As long as he adjusted the same sound-colors in tandem, the ships moved as he wished.

  A third ship tempted him, but he decided not to press his luck.

  Letting the magic infused galleys gain height, Mar watched the fifty armlength distant mob of legionnaires as they hauled their stricken comrades ashore, lest any happen to notice prematurely the disappearance of the ships. Some of the guards had stripped to the skin and dove in to assist those still in the water while the rest crowded along the edge to drag soaked armsmen onto the quay. A few of the rescued men had doubled over to vomit water, but none appeared to have drowned. Brother Fhsuyl, sitting with his back to Mar in an exhausted and sodden lump on an overturned pavement block, seemed dazed but otherwise also unharmed.

  Mar stopped the galleys at an altitude of five manheight, started to sprint them toward the shelter of Mucker Street, and stopped when he realized that Telriy's glamour, as he had learned to cast it, was stationary. The irregular flux cylinder that made the ships unseen would remain centered where it was until the process of random decay dissolved it. In order to remain concealed, he would need to cast it continually ahead of and around the ships, which meant that he could only move forward in short lurches rather than the quick dash that he had anticipated.

  Speed was an essential eleme
nt in any successful theft and he dare not dawdle, even if it meant abandoning the glamour.

  He needed another distraction.

  Moving quickly, he clambered over to the full galley, enchanted a barrel that smelled of pickles, overloading the staves to make them unstable, and fired it off toward the blackened ruin of a warehouse beyond the legionnaires. He neutralized his lifting flux modulations just before the barrel passed out of his control; he did not want the missile to zoom on in the sky but to plunge back to earth. Flying in a high arc, the barrel remained unnoticed when it exited the glamour, and, as it curved back toward the ground, only a few of the Droahmaerii heads turned upward to follow it.

  However, when the barrel struck and erupted in a bright flash of purple fire and a huge concussion, every eye turned toward it. Fhsuyl, who jumped up in evident alarm, began gesturing and shouting angrily.

  Mar bolted with the galleys still side by side, racing for the harbor gate. Focusing all of his attention on steering the ships, he resisted an urge to look toward Brother Fhsuyl and the Droahmaerii as he realigned the two aft to stern and made them start to descend below the intervening buildings.

  He did take time then to listen for any sounds of pursuit. As far as he could tell, there was none. Pleased, he brought the ships down so that their keels barely skimmed above the cobbles and tried to judge how much of their masts remained exposed above the buildings lining the street. It looked as if perhaps an armlength of the twin masts of the empty galley and almost a full manheight of the single mast of the loaded were still visible. That was not bad. It seemed to him that only someone on a high perch or a good distance out in the bay would be able to see them at all. Even then, it would be difficult to make out the gray, weathered poles against the light blue sky.

  He took a position at the stern of the empty galley so that he could have ready control of both and began to guide them toward the depot.