The gesture appearing entirely spontaneous, she slid her arms about his waist, careful of his injured arm, and hugged him. Rather than release him right away, she held him in a relaxed, comfortably intimate embrace.
He did not protest or flinch, though he was uniquely conscious of the firm press of her bosom against his side. "It took longer than I thought."
"I'm just glad that you made it back."
With firm determination, he chivvied his attention from an entranced contemplation of the warmth of her touch, the soft brush of her hair against the skin of his neck, and the sweet whisper of her breath across his face, to focus on producing a persuasive argument.
"If I don't learn more magic from Oyraebos's book, I won't be able to stop the Brotherhood." That was a half-lie; he did not believe that magic alone could break the power of the monks. His fundamental motivation for seeking the next text was unabashedly selfish -- he needed greater magic to free himself of the chains of the Blood Oath.
"Why make the Phaelle'n your problem? I thought you wanted the two of us to fly away? I told you that I'd go wherever you wanted."
Her questions caused him to fall silent. He knew that he must free himself of the magic that had made him a king, but somehow he was no longer sure that he wanted to leave the Mhajhkaeirii.
Had the magic of the Blood Oaths begun to exert its perfidious influence upon him?
Or were these doubts sprung from the heady aftertaste of the euphoria of his successful thievery?
Since he had awakened, he had been, as odd as it might seem, content. The gnawing urge that had been his constant companion through much of his existence -- to be alone, to avoid others, to reject the encumbrance of the rest of humanity -- was missing. For once in his life, he had a purpose outside of himself. The Mhajhkaeirii, from Lord Ghorn on down to the smallest waif, had overwhelming need of the strength of his magic. The Brotherhood of Phaelle, a vile corruption that threatened the entire world, must be eliminated, and there looked to be no other person alive who could see that done.
But he would not admit these thoughts to her.
"I still have to find Waleck. If he's joined the Brotherhood as you said, I need to hear it from his own mouth."
She held him tighter. "Then let me have what I want."
Fearing that his will to resist submitting to her overtures might be weakening, he shrugged free of her grip, returned to his block, and rose several armlengths into the air.
"Where are you going?" she asked him, without inflection. Her stance, however, betrayed mild exasperation.
"I've a meeting with Lord Ghorn."
"Will you eat a late supper with me? I want to ask you about the lifting and driving flux."
"I won't be in the camp tonight."
"It doesn't look like you're up to another foray into the city."
"You're right." He soared away from her without bothering to explain further.
FIFTEEN
17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 48th Day of Glorious Work
(Fourthday, Waxing, 3rd Summermoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
The Greatest City in All the World.
With the Shrikes weaving a watchful pattern high above, Traeleon raised his hand over the line of seventeen muslin shrouded corpses and made the sign of the Thrice Divided Circle.
The hundred or so brethren standing about the raised pyre quieted and grew still. Traeleon knew that the majority of them were devout believers, many of them Brohivii, and some no doubt clandestine supporters of more extreme doctrines. Realists among the ranks of the brethren seldom took out the time to attend funerals.
"My brothers, these diligent Workers have demonstrated their faithful service to the Duty and in so doing have earned immediate translation to the magical aspect. Their names shall, as of this very day be held up to all as Exemplars and thus recorded in the Hall of the Diligent."
The mourners responded with the appropriate form. "PRAISE TO THE WORK!" There was little emotion in the rote antiphon.
Traeleon paused. His established custom was to bury the Brotherhood's war dead with a minimum of ceremony and without an inordinate waste of his valuable time. His original plan had been to proclaim the standard brief liturgy, but he could see a great number Salients among those who had arrived for the service and most of the dead from the Work had been members of that order.
"Brethren, what is our purpose?"
For just a single shocked instant, there was silence, then a group of young Combatants at the front of the assemblage chanted the reply of the Salient Rite, "We exist to Work!"
The response came from less than a dozen voices, but it echoed across the Mhajhkaeirii'n plaza. Once more, Traeleon raised his hand and made the sign of the Tripartite, again studiously in the orthodox fashion.
"Brethren, I ask you again, what is our purpose?"
This time, every Salient shouted, "WE EXIST TO WORK!"
"Brethren, I ask you the third time, what is our purpose?"
Finally, as Traeleon desired, the entire crowd thundered defiantly, "WE EXIST TO WORK!"
"Why do we work?"
“BECAUSE OF THE DUTY!”
"What is our Duty?"
“THE RESTORATION OF MAGIC!”
Traeleon did not smile, though the roar filled him with a soaring sense of victory. A third time, he made the benediction of the Thrice Divided Circle.
"Let all men know that from this day forth," he declared clearly and strongly, "that no resistance to the Work will go unpunished, that no shirking of the Duty will be permitted, that no blasphemer or renegade from the truth of the Great Phaelle will be let live to stand against the Restoration! We, who have been selected to receive the one abiding truth -- the one true faith, will wage righteous war against the ignorance of anti-magic and all false gods! The Work!"
"THE DUTY!"
Traeleon did not have to initiate the final declaration of "The Restoration." The two words thundered across the plaza, chanted again and again and again.
He made a signal and a novitiate threw a torch into the pyre. A cheer burst from the mourners as the fire quickly grew to consume the mortal remains of Senior Deacon Aealmohs, Senior Veteran Brother Feigngny, Junior Brother G'ean, Abbot Mylstran, Junior Brother Blhisght, Novitiate Third Seingt, Postulant Second Lhorst, Brother Kylen, and the nine other brethren who had died when the Apostate struck the defenseless Work.
Brother Plehvis stepped up to his side. "Preeminence, Martial Director Lhevatr reports that the legions have marched from the city and all special units are standing by for their departure through the Emerald Gate."
"Have sufficient helmsmen for the Shrikes been recruited?"
"Yes, my lord. Abbot Jzeoosl affirms that they will all have sufficient training prior to the attack."
"Bhrucherra's plan to capture the Apostate?"
"Senor Brother Mulsis and his team are in position to infiltrate the camp."
"Excellent."
When Plehvis started to retire, Traeleon stopped him. "Send word to the First Promulgator. Brother Zheltraw is to select one thousand men from the Mhajhkaeirii prisoners and have them publicly executed by enervated bolt thrower. There is a need to demonstrate the great power of magic and the foolishness of resisting it."
"As you say, Preeminence."
SIXTEEN
Just before noon, Mar stood on the upper deck of Number Three, examining the ranks of his new magicians while trying to display more confidence than he actually felt.
Raising his hand to cover it ineffectually, he suffered through another extended yawn. He was well inured to full nights of work, and his trade had long acclimated him to having to catch up on his rest by napping during the day, but several consecutive days with little or no sleep had left him drained, garrulous, and tottering. The two three-hour round trip sprints to the plateau that he had just completed the previous night had especially taxed his reserves.
Of the close to five hundred who had queued at the foot of the
stairs of Number Three in response to the announcement that Lord Ghorn had had spread throughout the encampment at dawn that morning, only seven had shown sufficient awareness of the ether to achieve any success whatsoever in creating sand spheres.
Grandmother Heldhaen was wizened, tiny, and feisty, had raised sons, grandsons, and even a great-grandson, and, by her own oft-stated admission, had a wicked backhand to prove it. Her sphere had been a spiky mass no bigger than a black bean, whose enchantment had appeared to Mar both anemic and temporary. She had stared at her cupful of sand for more than an hour, long after Mar had dismissed her chances, and had danced and shrieked triumphantly when she finally succeeded in binding the flux.
The brothers, Trea and Ihlvoh, were hardly out of their teens, did not look at all alike, and grinned much too often for Mar's comfort, but had succeeded within moments. They each had produced an irregular bumpy mass roughly equivalent to a walnut.
Ironsmith Wloblh, a widower, and his two daughters, Mrye and Srye, who were his apprentices and flaxen-haired like their father but perhaps unfortunately also possessed of his thick shoulders and arms, had each formed irregular globes half the size of their not inconsiderable fists.
The final pilot candidate was, oddly enough, Ulor. His attempt had produced a perfect sphere about the diameter of a hen's egg. Mar had accepted this revelation as a simple matter of course, but the subaltern had whooped with joy.
Mar raised a short length of pine lumber to the height of his shoulders, infused it, and dropped his hand to leave it floating in front of the group.
"This is what you must first learn to control. Study it. When you can sense the lifting flux, let me know."
An hour later, none of the seven had made any progress. Rather than break for dinner, Mar had Ulor send Phehlahm, who, though he had failed the sand test, had requested and received of Mar permission to remain, to bring them all food and drink. After eating a bit himself, Mar left them all staring intently at the board and dropped down to the quiet semi-darkness of the lower deck, found a spot in the stern, and lay down, leaving Phehlahm with instructions to wake him immediately should the Phaelle'n reappear. With the full expectation that he would have a full night of ferrying loggers and refugees ahead of him, he intended to sleep the remainder of the day.
Ulor woke him first.
Mar stirred from the hard deck planks, looked around to judge the time -- probably the third hour of the afternoon from the length of the shadows visible through the open sides of the skyship -- and sat up.
It was obvious from the legionnaire's ear-to-ear grin that he had succeeded. Mar enchanted a broken pail sitting nearby and raised it an armlength above the deck. "Show me."
Ulor stared at the bucket for a moment and it drifted erratically about an armlength. Mar, focusing on the ether, saw the driving sound-color increase marginally then fade back to its original strength.
"Fine," Mar told him. "Now go practice." Then he went back to sleep.
Only a little bit later, Mrye, the oldest daughter, woke him next. She could only make the pail move a fingerlength, but he gave her the same instructions as Ulor and again laid his head back down.
Before nightfall, all the rest of the seven -- the brothers together, Wloblh and then his other daughter, and finally Grandmother Heldhaen -- had demonstrated some ability with the driving flux, though Heldhaen could only make the pail tremble slightly for a second or two. Ulor, encouragingly, learned to move the bucket three full paces and Mar decided to drill him while the rest ate.
"Try Again." Mar shoved another spoonful of the savorless bean mush into his mouth and chewed distastefully for a moment. Phehlahm had cooked the beans, but had added nothing but salt.
"Try adding an onion and some bacon, next time," Mar grumped to the young marine.
"Aye, my lord king."
In front of Ulor, the suspended pail shivered, then raced across the deck at a slightly different angle and rammed insistently against a portside upright. It remained stuck there, skittering sideways along the beam.
"Well," Mar commented. "You've learned to change direction."
Ulor frowned. "That wasn't on purpose and I still don't understand how to make it stop."
"Ah. Still, I think you'll have it with more work." Mar cleared the flux from the pail and it banged to the deck. "I think you understand the ether well enough to start training on one of the skyships. There's nothing else to be gained from buckets. You should go with Telriy to the forest tonight. Watch her efforts, try to understand them."
"Aye, my lord king."
Ihlvoh stuck his head down the hatch to the upper deck and called out, "The Prince-Commander and several others are coming!"
Mar stood up and set his half-emptied plate on the deck, hoping someone would step on it so that he would not have to come back to finish it. "Keep practicing. I'll go down to speak with him. Phehlahm, tell the others to meet me back here in the morning."
"Aye, my lord king."
Mar walked to the opening in the netting just forward of amidships and eased down the stairs. Any jar of his arm still made him shudder.
Number Three was now moored in a slip hacked into the woodlot. On the side away from the crossroads, a crew had cut the smaller trees, saplings, vines, and larger bushes, leaving a cave-like opening under the larger oaks. As the ferry missions required that he spend most of his time aboard her, and as he resolutely disregarded any inclination to move aboard Number One with Telriy, he had established residence on board the skyship. Mhiskva had promised a tent and a cot, but in the meantime, he slept and took all his meals on the rough boards of the lower deck.
Once on the ground, he looked along the path that had been worn through the clutter of undergrowth and saw Lord Ghorn, Lord Purhlea, Mhiskva, Aerlon, Berhl, and several junior officers winding toward him. The first thing that Mar noticed was that the Prince-Commander neither limped nor carried a cane.
"You've been to see Aunt Whelsi?" he asked as soon the prince reached him.
"Yes indeed, my lord magician. I still feel the sword thrust when the leg bears my full weight, but the soreness is gone. I am beginning to believe that magery does have a positive aspect after all. Is there a place where we could sit? Standing still is remarkably uncomfortable."
"There's one bucket, a handmade stool with three mismatched legs that someone left last night, and the edge of the steerage platform."
"We will make do," Lord Ghorn declared, smiling slightly.
As they climbed up through to the upper deck, they met the other trainees coming down and the prince made a point of getting their names and asking about their situations. All but Grandmother Heldhaen were courteous and reserved in their replies.
Standing toe to toe with the prince, she glared up at him and asked archly, "When are you going to take the city back?"
The prince did not bat an eye. "In forty-seven and a half days, give or take a fortnight."
Heldhaen looked startled then laughed. "I'll take that as a round about way to tell me to mind my own concerns."
The prince inclined his head.
Once they reached the upper deck, Mar hopped up onto the steerage platform and let his legs dangle, leaving Lord Ghorn the stool. The other men arranged themselves behind the prince and seemed content to stand.
"How is the magic school progressing?" the prince asked as soon as he had settled.
"I expect that Ulor will learn how to guide a skyship, maybe as soon as a couple of days. The rest, I don't know yet."
"I am amazed that you found any."
"I'd hoped for a lot more."
"These few will make a great difference. If we can begin running multiple nightly trains up to the Monolith, then we might shave as much as a day from our final withdrawal."
"Monolith?"
"This is what we have named the plateau fortress. The name will suggest safety and strength to the people. At this stage, the most important thing that we must do is to maintain morale."
Mar no
dded in acknowledgement but did not comment.
The Prince-Commander looked at Aerlon, who stood directly to his right. "Commander."
The Plydyrii took a step forward. "My lord king, Berhl and I would like to propose that we construct additional skyships along the lines of Number One or perhaps even larger."
"I thought there was a problem with getting enough sawn lumber?"
"After some discussions, we have hit upon a ready source that would not beggar the nearby populace."
"But I'd have to bring it here?"
Berhl, just next to his co-conspirator, nodded. "That's right, my lord king. At the barge landing at Yhelbton, which is around thirty leagues from here, there are generally close to a dozen barges being dismantled at any one time. Even if none of the barges are airworthy, the timbers should permit us to construct the frames for several skyships."
"Getting those barges might take several nights," Mar warned. He did not see that a few extra skyships would make much difference and already felt overstretched by the demands upon his time. "Would you have time to finish any new skyships before the rafts are all ready?"
Aerlon answered this question. "Once we have the materials, we can build them in as little as a day or two, I believe, considering that we have hundreds of craftsmen and workers to call upon, especially if we adhere to the simple design of the Number One class. It would be better to gather the timbers now while we are reasonably close, my lord king. Even should we not have the time to finish the new ships here, we'll need to do so as soon as we reach the Monolith."
"Why is that?"
"We'll need at least a dozen skyships to transport food and water to Monolith on a daily basis," Berhl supplied. "The daily provisions needed to supply thirteen thousand are considerable. We've started to buy up all the extra produce and stored grain from the farms in the vicinity, but that's been barely making three meals a day for everyone."
"Should we consider dispersing the civilians?" Lord Purhlea wondered. "The logistical problem of feeding only the three thousand marines and legionnaires would be much more manageable."
Key to Magic 03 King Page 12