"I'd have thought that some of them would already have found their way to the nearer towns and villages," Berhl commented, "but it doesn't look like any have budged."
"Dispersal is not an option," Aerlon contradicted. "The histories are all clear. No one who has sworn the Blood Oath can abandon his king. In 898 at the Fortress of Zgraenoe, five thousand armsmen starved to death to the last man rather than surrender the unconscious and dying King Orle to the besieging army of the Hegemony. None of these people here will leave the King."
Lord Ghorn scowled. "Commander Aerlon is correct. Blood Oath or no and aside from the fact that our duty requires us to succor and defend them, we must hold this group together. We'll need them as a base to support our campaign to recapture the city."
None of the others spoke, but Mar saw uncertainty in the eyes of some of the legates and subalterns. Purhlea, Mhiskva, Aerlon, and Berhl might have all had faces made of stone. Nor did he did venture a comment. He had not had time to put much thought to it, but the idea that the defeated remnants under Lord Ghorn's command could retake Mhajhkaei sounded improbable at the very least.
The Prince-Commander rose to his feet and turned to address the marines and legionnaires.
"It is clear to me -- and I hope to you all -- that Grandmother Heldhaen has hit upon the most important issue facing us. Once we have established ourselves at the Monolith, our primary objective must be to recapture Mhajhkaei. While the monks hold the city, they certainly can and will lay claim to the legitimate rule of all the provinces of the hinterland and use that rule to attempt to sway the allegiance of the Sister Cities. It is entirely likely that they will raise up their own puppet Prince and depict Prince Davfydd as a false pretender. To the world, Mhajhkaei is not just the capital of the Principate, it is the Principate. I do not see that we can pursue any other course but the utter and total defeat of the Brotherhood and to do that we must regain the power and prestige of The Greatest City in All the World."
Mar watched the faces of the Mhajhkaeirii as the prince spoke. Mhiskva and Aerlon seemed unmoved, as if the recapture of Mhajhkaei had been a foregone conclusion in their minds. Purhlea nodded once, but otherwise betrayed no emotion, and Berhl looked as if he simply needed to be told where to attack.
The younger officers behind these four, however, seemed to take energy from the quiet pronouncement and smiles began to appear on previously dour countenances.
Then, Lord Ghorn turned about to took Mar in the eye, obviously waiting.
Mar recognized this for what it was: a tacit acknowledgement of the fact that the decision was, ultimately and undeniably, his.
As all of them knew, his magic was the only thing that had made the escape from the city possible and it was his magic upon which the Mhajhkaeirii'n counterattack -- perhaps their entire existence -- would depend.
But more than that, he was the king.
Not a charlatan or mountebank, but the real, indisputable, honest-to-the-gods, king.
Magic had made him the ruler of the Mhajhkaeirii -- at least of these pitiful few -- and nothing aside from great magic could change that.
Self-consciously worrying that he might appear pompous, Mar did not stand.
"Yes," he told them simply, "we'll need Mhajhkaei. And a larger skyship fleet. And armies. And more magicians. The Brotherhood must be driven from all the lands of the Silver Sea and I intend to see that done."
SEVENTEEN
17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 49th Day of Glorious Work
(Fifthday, Waxing, 3rd Summermoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
Three leagues from Mhajhkaei
Commander-of-Legions Lazssri drew up the reins of his horse as the scouts galloped towards him. Before they arrived, he took a moment to check on his command, twisting about in his saddle so that he could view the entire line of the advance.
The highway probably dated from the period of the Glorious Empire, but the Mhajhkaeirii, diligent heirs that they were, had maintained the road well. Lazssri could not find fault with unbelievers in that, at least, as the granite paved way allowed his column to march twenty abreast. A full legion only stretched back sixty armlengths and altogether the column was only half a league in length.
He smiled. His officers had taken his warnings to heart. The seven legions marched in good order with no stragglers. He had only two legions of Salients -- the first and the last, of course -- but the two Droahmaerii, reconstituted Plydyrii, recently raised Mhajhkaeirii volunteer, and Lhorvhavhenrii mercenary legions kept proper cadence and looked like proper armsmen in their rough leathers and chainmail, even if most of them had never been in a genuine open field battle. It was true that Salients commanded all of these, but he was pleased nonetheless.
It also pleased him that every legionnaire bore a maroon and gray blazon on his left shoulder. It was not proper that worldly allegiances should pollute a mission to do the great Work. There had been some grumbling from the ranks at his order to abandon their own heathen colors for the holy sign of Phaelle, especially among the Droahmaerii, but the example of ten of the loudest complainers given the lash had silenced all resistance.
Lazssri turned around front again as the lead scout, Encourager Second Kynhol'r, clattered to a halt. "Report, Encourager,"
"Brother, the magistrate of the village has refused entry to Brother Lk'sidaein and the other Promulgators."
"Was it explained to them that we bring the message of the Great Phaelle?"
"Brother Lk'sidaein remonstrated with the man for several minutes, but the magistrate still refused."
Lazssri thought a moment. "Brother, take word to the brother promulgator to make ready to parade the Holy Relic and demonstrate the Holy Magic. Once this has been done, return to me and report the response of the villagers."
As the scout sunk his spurs and raced back toward the small hamlet, Lazssri turned to his staff. "Commander-of-Cloisters Barste, order the column to deploy into a line parallel to the highway, advance to the village, and surround it."
As Barste's aide, an archivist, relayed the orders through his far talking disk, Lazssri turned his horse about to see how the column would deal with the simple field maneuver.
Most of the nearly flat wheat fields along the highway had already been scythed and gleaned, though not yet plowed for fall planting. A grove of trees lay to the southwest, but otherwise the terrain was as open as a parade ground, lacking fences or walls of any kind, and there should be no disruption to the column as it unfolded like a fan.
Immediately behind the head of the column, the Salients of the Second Holy Legion unfurled precisely to form a block five ranks deep. The legions following split alternately to the right and left, marching briskly to their new positions to either side of the Second. The trailing Fourteenth Holy Legion would anchor the right flank and the senior Droahmaerii legion would anchor the left.
Lazssri frowned. "Tell Senior Assault Brother Vrelbis'nisg that his Plydyrii are lagging. He must get them into line with the legions on his flanks immediately."
Presently, the column had deployed to his satisfaction and moved forward in good order to encircle the hamlet, an unimpressive clump of two dozen or so single storey stone houses.
Watching as the party of Promulgators approached the village again, he waited with his staff on a small knoll to the left of the highway, just inside the circle of his legions and no more than a hundred armlengths from the outskirts.
It was no more than five minutes before Brother Lk'sidaein and his companions reemerged, riding fast and trailed by a small crowd who appeared to be throwing stones.
"Fire the village and put to the sword anyone who attempts to escape," Lazssri ordered. "This pestilence cannot be permitted to exist."
When the village and all her inhabitants were nothing but ash, Lazssri stopped to give thanks to the Great Phaelle. After dismounting, he offered a short sermon, knelt, and led the entire column in a prayer. When he stood again and gave the order to continue, he
felt energized, enlightened, and inspired.
The second village that the column encountered also rejected the message of the Restoration, but by the time they reached the third, news of the previous two righteous cleansings had preceded the column and the Mhajhkaeirii villagers made no open protest as Brother Lk'sidaein and his fellow Promulgators entered the tiny municipal plaza. Lazssri, desiring to witness this advancement of the Holy Work, rode along, bringing his entire staff and two cloisters of Salients from the Second.
There were only a handful of the older village men in evidence, standing in a defensive clump on the steps of the Princedom's customhouse. The rest of the populace had apparently locked themselves up in their houses.
"Brother Barste," he told his second-in-command, "have the Salient brethren go throughout the village and invite the inhabitants to hear the message of the Restoration."
When all had assembled, from the smallest babe on the breast to the most ancient invalid, filling the plaza under the watchful eyes of the Salients, Brother Lk'sidaein climbed to the top of the customhouse steps and addressed them.
"Good people, I'm Brother Lk'sidaein and I'm a member of a fraternity that follows the teachings of the great philosopher and seer, Master Phaelle. I've come before you today to share with you a great truth, the greatest truth that has ever been told. A truth will transform your life. A truth will transform our world. That truth is this: that magic, which many of you fancy as modern superstition or fear as ancient villainy, is actually a force for good, a force for progress, a force that all men can use and control if they are blessed with Ability and follow the strictures laid down by the man who discovered this truth, Great Phaelle."
He gestured to the brethren that bore the iron bound mahogany ark that held the Holy Relic, and the men bore it in front of Lk'sidaein and held it aloft while he raised the lid and reverently removed the sacred object. After a short recitation in an ancient tongue, he raised the two fingerlength featureless silver tube and turned one end toward the crowd.
"Behold, the power of magic!"
Blue-white light appeared at the projected end, dim and unimpressive in the bright sunshine. Brother Lk'sidaein swung it around, so that all might see its glow directly.
At first, the villagers were unmoved by the demonstration of Holy Magic.
Lazssri strode forth and proclaimed, "All who reject the Duty of All Men to Work for the Restoration name themselves enemies of our holy purpose. The Archdeacon of our fraternity has declared that no enemy of the Restoration will be permitted to live."
Thereafter, there so were many who came to understand the truth, rejecting their false gods and professing an earnest desire to join in the Work, that the Commander-of-Legions was moved once more to fall on his knees in prayer.
The next day, as the column continued on, the Junior Ascertainer operating the Second's far talking disk informed him that the Archdeacon required an accounting of why more progress had not been made toward the Apostate's position
Lazssri's reply was succinct. "The Duty of All Men requires that we proclaim the message of the Restoration as we advance. We shall strike against the nest of the unbelieving renegades in due course."
EIGHTEEN
Concentrating intently, Telriy teased the port side of Number One closer to the broken stub of the causeway that had become the Monolith's de facto skyship dock. Five manheight high, the causeway had slightly sloping walls and a broad road surface formed of two armlength square fitted granite blocks. It had once linked two similarly constructed square towers, each sited just armlengths from the precipitous southern edge of the plateau, but some ancient rock slip had carried away the center of the causeway, leaving an eighty armlength gap. With the western stub and tower in much better shape than the eastern, the original party of legionnaires had chosen it as their base.
To facilitate docking at night, Vice-Captain Berhl's engineers had mounted cantilevered poles at the stub end and near the tower, then dropped chains to support lanterns that lit the sides of the causeway. The poles also defined the ends of the anchorage and Telriy watched them carefully as she nudged the skyship, heavy with three hundred passengers, into position.
Beside her, Fugleman Truhsg, watching the signals of Kyamhyn, stationed at the stern, spat out quickly, "One armlength!"
Aelwyrd, hanging precariously over the starboard rail so that he could judge the gap at the bow, confirmed, "One armlength!"
Telriy rapidly lowered the pressure on the lateral flux, which she perceived as a roundly smoky flavored sorrow, then reversed it just enough to kill its motion entirely, and the skyship became still.
Telriy's deckhands -- Quaestor Eishtren's men Scahll, Bear, and Dhem, and the older Auxiliaries Hryen, Siel, Mlehn, and Tsyie -- tossed cables out to the waiting Mhajhkaeirii dockhands, who lugged the side timbers of the skyship against the lichen covered stone.
Telriy relaxed and let Truhsg and the crew, to which the process had become routine, prepare to disembark the passengers. While the legionnaires slid out and set the gangplank, the Auxiliaries began to organize the men, women, and children on the upper deck, reminding them to gather their parcels and baggage and locate strayed progeny. As soon as the cleated, armlength-wide ramp was ready, the entire crew began funneling the passengers off onto the causeway and into the care of the waiting civilian constables. When the upper deck was almost clear, some of the Auxiliaries brought up the lower deck passengers, and then, with quiet efficiency, the constables started herding the new arrivals along the causeway and through the arched tunnel that pierced the tower, guiding them toward their new quarters.
As the sun began to lighten the eastern sky, Ulor's wife emerged from below bearing a steaming cup of tea. Telriy took it with a smile and sank down into her chair, taking a long sip. "Thank you, Yhejia. How'd those on the lower deck make the trip?"
The older woman grinned. "The usual. We had one attack of panicked frustration, a few incidents of sky sickness that we had to clean up, and some normal grumbling, but I think most of us Mhajhkaeirii are beginning to become accustomed to flying. If you ask me, it's a far sight better than suffering in the moldy hold of a ship. At least on a skyship, you always have fresh air. I think we're going to have to come up with something better than the midden buckets though. After an hour they become quite rank."
"Maybe we should just cut a hole all the way through the deck and let people make their water and soil straight out of the skyship."
Yhejia laughed. "It'd be a pity if we happened to be passing over some farmer at the opportune moment."
Grinning, Telriy told the woman who had become her chief assistant, "I'll ask the Quaestor to look into it." She got up. "I'm going to stretch my legs a bit before breakfast."
"Don't be long. With the gang we're feeding, the bread we baked yesterday won't last long."
The standard complement of Number One was considerable. Aside from the Quaestor's section, including the often rambunctious Auxiliaries, she had gathered Yhejia and her children -- Ulor being given full command of Number Seven -- Yhejia's widowed sister Aiyse and her children, and the ambulatory but not yet fully recovered legate, Rhel, and the little boy that had come aboard with him, who everyone had taken to calling Pip.
Telriy slipped into the tail end of the queue exiting the skyship. Seeing her walk onto the causeway, Bear and Scahll bounded over the rail and hopped across the gap, then stood together waiting patiently.
Not hurrying, she devoted several moments to sharing a few words of reassurance and commiseration with any of the refugees that seemed so inclined, a duty that she had accepted as a normal part of her daily schedule. When she finally turned toward the tunnel, Bear and Scahll strolled after her, though they made sure to stay a dozen paces behind her. The two had become her constant shadows on any occasion that she left Number One. The first time, she had scolded them, arguing that as the second most powerful magician alive -- admittedly not much of a claim, for as far as she knew there were only her, Mar, and
the inexpert trainees -- the Phaelle'n were of course sorcerers -- she needed no protection. But Scahll had explained quite bluntly that if she were to come to harm, then the first most powerful magician alive -- the King himself -- would almost certainly take offense.
Not seeing the usefulness in an admission to them that Mar was more likely to reward them than punish them were she to disappear from the scene, she had acquiesced to their insistence but glared reproachfully if they infringed too closely.
Tasked each night to make trips in Number One both to the forest camps and up here to the Monolith, she had not had much opportunity to explore the ruined complex. She had taken a short stroll in the company of Yhejia and her extended family the previous day, just before their dusk departure, to examine a beautifully colored fresco discovered in one of the cleared and now occupied rooms in the attached square tower, but that jaunt had been dissatisfying brief. Having wondered what other lost treasures the ancient community had left behind, she intended to take some time this morning to look around.
Just beyond the arched tunnel, whose tight, intricately patterned stonework was interesting but not pause-worthy, she came out into a wide lane overreached by intact arcades supported on insubstantial fluted columns. The bulk of the decorative facade on the arches, a smooth and lustrous olive stone carved with stylized greenery, had survived. Here she did pause to examine olive stone, the like of which she had never previously seen. Some of the thin slabs had cracked and spawled, but the majority showed only mild pitting. The style of the carvings was unfamiliar, and there were extraneous markings that might be some sort of calligraphy on each one.
Under the guidance of legion engineers, a great deal of work had been done to clear the flagstone paved lane, the narrow passageways leading from it, and the rooms in the two and three storey dormitory-like buildings that ran beside it. The upper storeys of most of these edifices were open to the sky, with the timbers, planking and tiles of their roofs long since vanished. The Mhajhkaeirii had laid temporary roofs of canvas and poles above a number of the buildings and it was here that the newly arrived refugees had found lodging. She saw a few men and women moving along the arcades above her as she continued on -- most of these early risers seemed occupied carrying water and firewood, though she did see one intrepid pair of matrons hanging out laundered clothes on a line strung from one side of the lane to the other -- but otherwise the area was deserted. Nearly all of the thirty-eight hundred or so (counting the three hundred and twelve that she had brought this trip) transported thus far from the crossroads must still be in their beds.
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