While he worked, it occurred to him that he should stop on the way back and take on as much sand as could fit in any spare space that the skyship had. If Mhiskva and his guerrillas made effective use of the missiles, as he expected, the need for them would grow ten or a hundredfold.
Focused on the repetitious task, he was taken unawares when Dhrasnoaeghs approached him, saluted, and stood at attention, apparently waiting for Mar to speak. His fuglemen, both similar in age to their commander, stood behind. Aerlon and the others stood back, watching respectfully.
"Yes, Vice-Commander Dano--" Mar began.
"Dhrasnoaeghs, my lord. The gh is silent."
"Right. What can I do for you?"
The old legionnaire pulled off his helmet. "My lord, Commander Aerlon has told me that you are the magician-king of the Mhajhkaeirii, responsible for this wondrous ship?"
Mar just nodded. A denial, however tempting, would have been ludicrous.
"My lord, I was born in Mhajhkaei but my lineage, both maternal and paternal, is of Bhynor, of the ancient House of the Royal Electors. My ancestors rode in the Royal Horse Guards of Bhynor and served her kings for five centuries. When I was only five I memorized the songs of The Annals of the Eastern Kings and for my entire life, I have hoped to see that greatness reborn." With a flourish, Dhrasnoaeghs drew his sword and knelt.
Mar grimaced, but did not rise or move to prevent what came next. It had had to happen eventually. Kingship, like plague, was known to spread.
With obvious, almost pretentious, ceremony, the vice-commander slid his fingers of his left hand down his blade, made a fist, and dribbled blood onto the deck. “With steel and blood, bound forever into the earth, I pledge my life and the lives of all my line to thee! I, Dhrasnoaeghs nh’ Dhrasnoaeghs nhi' Kyaeria, name you my king!”
Before the contagion could infect the fuglemen or take hold in the rest of the garrison, Mar hurriedly hustled his newest subject and his men off the skyship, making vague promises to summon him when the time came to ride against the enemies of the Kingdom. Immediately, he pulled away from the tower and sped over the town toward the guildhall. The plaza in front of the portico of the three-storey building was large enough to accommodate the skyship, and while Aerlon, Chaer, and Phehlahm went to find and rouse the guild master, he settled back down to make spheres.
After a few minutes, E'hve, standing at the rail as he eyeballed the deserted, moonlit plaza, spoke abruptly, "Thank you, my lord king, for the magic you did on my cuts and bruises." His voice had a gravelly sound to it, as if it were rusty from disuse. As Chaer was the talkative one, perhaps it was. "I've never had wounds heal so quickly."
"It's nothing. It's just part of the job."
"Being a magician or being a king?"
"Both."
The sourness of Mar's tone made the legionnaire glance back briefly, but the man essayed no comment.
Aerlon and the two marines returned to the ship shortly, bringing a short, nearly bald man in an ankle-length white cotton nightshirt with them.
As soon as they boarded, Aerlon explained, "My lord king, this is Guild Master Bryge. He has news that I thought you should hear from him directly, should you have any questions."
Bryge ducked his head in a half-bow. "It's about the sorcery, my lord."
Mar frowned. "What sorcery?"
"A merchant, a woman named Saeha, brought the tale to me just today. She was traveling north and came upon a spot near where the Leicston road crosses the highway -- that's where Prince-Commander Ghorn camped his forces, wasn't it? -- when she saw a weird, green fire that the rains did not put out. She claims that it cuts across large fields, charring a deep trench into the ground. There seemed to have been a battle there, she said, but saw no corpses. Might you be able to investigate that, my lord?"
With a sinking feeling, Mar nodded. "I'll see about it right now. Aerlon, you and the others stand by here. I'll be back."
Enchanting his brigandine, he sailed upward. The crossroads was only five leagues to the south. He was there in ten minutes.
And, indeed, it was as Bryge had said. Though the conflagration had burned deep into the ground, causing some shifting and subsidence, the magical fire that he had sewn to imprison the Brotherhood's legions had lost none of it intensity. Its emerald light drew a broken, arcane-like symbol on the low clouds of the night sky.
There was no indication as to how the trapped Phaelle'n legions had escaped, but it might simply have been a matter of temporarily bridging the trench once the magical fire burned down below the surface.
He tried for almost an hour, but he could not dampen the magic. It seemed to be feeding on itself in an endless loop and the flux ignored his will completely. As far as he could tell, the fire would burn forever, continually searing its way down into the earth.
Abandoning his futile efforts, he cursed the calamity that he had inadvertently created all the way back to Elboern.
TWENTY-SIX
142nd Year of the Reign of the City
(Twelfthday, Waxing, 3rd Summermoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
The Monolith
The council of war, such as it was, took place in what might have once been an audience hall or, for all Ghorn knew, a laundry.
The largest of the thus far refurbished rooms in the area of the Monolith taken over by the Mhajhkaeirii, it had a structurally sound dome above, a solid and unbroken rose marble floor, and a low, raised platform of unknown previous use to one side. There were no tables and precious few chairs for the attendees and at a certain not significant volume, a voice would generate a disconcertingly ragged echo, as if the room were inside a cracked bell. Nevertheless, it was large enough to accommodate the full compliment of both those that Ghorn had ordered to be present and those notables, scholars, and tradesmen that had responded to his general invitation. Ghorn and his officers had arrayed themselves in an arc facing the platform on which the magician and his wife -- the King and Queen, Ghorn reminded himself -- sat together on a bench. Behind them stood legionnaires and marines of Ulor's clandestinely organized Royal Guard. The civilians stood or squatted in lines to either side of the arc.
As expected, the logistical reports were not encouraging.
Ghorn nodded at the next officer, a young legate named Perhszol -- competent but given to spasms of exuberance -- and the man snapped to attention and then bowed across the rough circle toward the King. Ghorn noted that the magician continued to be annoyed by the bowing, which many of the junior officers had taken to in lieu of the prohibited kneeling, though he had resignedly stopped protesting every instance.
The prince eased out a quiet breath and carefully moved his aching leg into a better position. The simple chair he sat in was newly made of rough-hewn green lumber and Berhl had warned him to be careful of splinters. Thankfully, though the day had warmed appreciably outside, the regular, gentle draft that passed through the chamber from the corridors at either end made the temperature inside pleasant. In the same fashion, Daylight reflected along the polished pale granite of the corridor walls and there had been no need to light any of the rather scarce candles.
Legate Perhszol pulled a tiny ledger book from a satchel, opened it to a marked page, and began to read the entries. “With all loggers and stragglers retrieved as of yesterday evening, the full census of the fortress is as follows. Civilians -- 11,440, including 4,278 children under the age of fifteen. The majority of the civilians are in reasonable health. Only 182 continue to require the attention of a physician. Armsmen and auxiliaries -- 3,338. This breaks down into the following categories. Footmen of the city militia -- 283 have reported to muster call, including 47 who are too wounded to fight but may be capable of serving in some capacity within a fortnight or two. Of the recently conscripted city levies, 76 men and 59 women have reported for duty. Approximately half of these have weapons of some sort. Regular forces -- Defenders: 847 effectives, 82 wounded. Reapers: 734 effectives, 154 wounded. Straggler legionnaires and officer
s: 212, all of whom have been assigned to a training cadre. Marines: 891 of eight separate troops, all of whom claim sufficient strength to wield their weapons. The latter group has been reorganized into four troops in a heavy brigade as directed by High-Captain Mhiskva. Additionally, perhaps a thousand matrons, youths, and codgers have evidenced a willingness to be taught the staff or short bow and might at some point be used as a garrison reserve. We expect that these volunteers can achieve minimal competency within a month, if sufficient weapons can be found or made."
“Thank you, Legate,” Ghorn nodded at Aerlon, who was next on his mental list.
The Plydyrii, seated with the senior officers to Ghorn's right on a bench, stood without notes and cleared his throat. “As far as victuals, our reserve is at very low levels. We have no appreciable stocks of long-term foodstuffs, that is, cheese, sausage, grain, dried fruit, or smoked fish. Perishable rations -- those farm goods that we are purchasing from Elboern -- give us a buffer of no more than five days and require a replenishment run on a near nightly basis. We have begun organizing hunting parties, composed mostly of inexperienced youths, and transporting them daily to the forest at the foot of the plateau. These have achieved some minor success and we have been able to supplement our stews with rabbits and birds, but they will hunt out the area within a half-day's walk within perhaps two days. Forage results are minimal. Additionally, a large group of fishermen and volunteers has established a camp on the bank of the Ice and once they complete boats and nets should provide an amount of fish that will fluctuate depending on the seasonal catch. Explorers have located one large spring in a covered outcropping that has a sufficient output -- in the neighborhood of thousands of gallons daily -- to provide all our present needs. There is an extant water distribution system of channels and pipes, that once renovated, could deliver water to every portion of the complex. Finally, there are numerous patches of open ground that may have been parks or the like. These might be suited for a fall crop. Turnips, carrots, and cabbages are likely to be suitable, but we shall have to procure seed.”
The magician, not rapt up to this point, stiffened slightly at this last and raised a hand to be recognized.
Ghorn smothered an inclination to smile. The new king had not yet acclimated himself to the prerogatives of his exalted rank. That was – probably -- a good thing. “Yes, my lord?"
The magician did not quite frown. "Some areas of the ruins should be avoided. There are ... latent magical dangers."
Ghorn saw the Queen cut her eyes sharply at her husband. This was apparently news to her. The prince had heard from numerous sources that the magical pair were currently somewhat at odds. It was not unusual, in his experience, for marriages of the young to be in an uproar, but he wondered if there might be more to their disagreements than simple emotional pique.
"Certainly, my lord. If you would give those locations to Berhl after the meeting, he will see that they remain undisturbed."
Aerlon regained his seat and without being prompted another officer, a marine subaltern -- Mhygaeus, Ghorn thought his name was -- addressed the assemblage. His expression was neutral, his statements clipped.
“There are currently approximately two thousand civilians who continue to be housed within tents and other temporary shelters, but within five to ten days, those should all be transferred to permanent housing in renovated structures. All armsmen should be lodged in permanent quarters within a fortnight. There is a pronounced shortage of bedding and household items of all sorts, particularly of kitchen utensils. Firewood continues to be rationed, but deadfalls from the forest below will suffice to fill our needs for some time. Some of the experienced loggers have begun cutting trees. This wood will need to season, but will be usable by the time the weather turns cold. We are establishing latrines and bathing facilities utilizing the existing cloaca."
Mhygaeus was the last of those that Ghorn had asked to provide reports. Now came the grueling part. He turned his attention to the civilians. "Are there any suggestions or comments?"
There followed a solid hour of sometimes helpful and sometimes inane discourses from various and sundry. Ghorn oversaw this portion of the meeting quite casually and for the most part the participants were respectful, polite, and patient. Finally, when it seemed to him that everyone who had anything remotely productive to contribute had spoken, the prince rapped the pommel of his dagger on the arm of his chair for attention.
"It is clear that most of our logistical problems derive from the lack of time and of transport. The first should solve itself, but the second may require resources -- magicians -- that we may not be able to acquire. I would welcome any ideas as to how we might improve the movement of supplies and personnel to and from the Monolith."
After a moment of general murmuring, an older fellow moved to the fore of the tradesmen's group on the right, bowed inexpertly toward the king, and introduced himself to the wider council as Khlosb'ihs, a shipwright. "My lords, I've been looking at these skyships -- now correct me if I'm wrong -- but won't they float at a certain altitude whether there's a pilot aboard who can do magic or not?"
Ghorn looked over at the magician for confirmation.
"Yes, that's right, for the most part," Mar agreed. "I can cast the magic in such a way that a skyship will remain at a specific height, but without someone to adjust the flux, it won't be able to rise or descend."
Khlosb'ihs nodded. "And the skyships will move freely? They aren't fixed in place? That's the way it seemed to me at the encampment. The armsmen shoved them around quite easily, it looked like to me."
"That is true," Ghorn allowed. "Though it does take some force to get them moving."
"Not as much as if they were floating in water," Berhl qualified. "Perhaps two-thirds as much, by my estimation."
"Five good sized men can tow a barge," Mhiskva agreed.
Several others, civilians and armsmen alike, looked as if they intended to speak to the matter. In order to forestall another drawn-out discussion, Ghorn asked the shipwright directly, "Shipwright Khlosb'ihs, it is evident that you do not intend us to pole the skyships with oars or drag them along. What exactly is your suggestion?"
"Sails, my lord."
"No one's ever rigged a ship that big with only sails," another of the civilians argued.
"Oh, indeed they have. Perhaps not here, but down along the Aehrfhaen coast they've given up oars almost altogether."
Ghorn immediately grasped the implications. "A skyship would not need a magician to move, only favorable winds and a good crew."
Khlosb'ihs grinned. "I'd say so, my lord. With enough trained men and tools, I think I can outfit one of the larger skyships with masts, spars, and sails in no more than a fortnight or two."
"But how would you steer it?" Berhl questioned. "A rudder wouldn't work, I don't think."
"You'd have to set your sails to turn it like they do with those long timber ships down in the Archipelago," Khlosb'ihs answered with confidence. "You could always run straight before the wind, but tacking might turn out to be a chore."
"The crew would have to club haul to make hard turns," Mhiskva suggested. "And kedge to make a close approach."
Ghorn let the ideas flow. This proposal seemed to offer not only a perfect solution to their transport shortage but also promised a means to advance his own nascent plans to recover Mhajhkaei and insure the survival of the Principate, a course that he was unswervingly determined to pursue.
While the discussion gained momentum, fed by the burgeoning enthusiasm of the main participants, Berhl, Mhiskva, and Khlosb'ihs, Ghorn turned his gaze and thoughts to the King, who listened with interest, adding a few clarifications concerning the lifting magic as needed.
Should he swear the Blood Oath?
With the infant Prince of Mhajhkaei and the illusion of his rule, of necessity, all but set aside, the magician had filled a potentially difficult political vacuum. Though the institution was technically a grievous violation of long standing Principate law, he
judged that there would be no significant resistance to this de facto transfer of suzerainty. In the modern era, kingship, in the minds of most, had been romanticized by theatre and tale into a juvenile fantasy of altruism, honor, and heroism. King Mar of the Mhajhkaeirii -- the name itself seemed filled with the promise of glorious and fantastic deeds. It would not be difficult to rally the Principate to the magician's banner.
Mhajhkaei and all the peoples of the Silver Sea would need a symbol; Ghorn had no doubt of that. A single, recognizably strong leader, one clearly capable and effective man, could serve as a focus for every person and every state that chose to resist the Phaelle’n. He had once considered having the magician hailed as prince of Mhajhkaei, but as a prince, the magician’s political scope would have been limited. None of the other princes of the Sister Cities would have accepted him as anything more than an equal, and many might have rejected his dominance outright. But as a king – especially if care were taken to portray him as a mystical savior and not a mundane despot – Mar might well prove the key to a successful war against the Monks. Not by his magic, but by the sheer mythic power of the name King.
Ghorn was convinced that it would take much more than magic to defeat the conquerors of Mhajhkaei. As powerful as Mar's magic had become, it alone could not ensure victory. Without question, the loss of Mhajhkaei and the narrow escape from the crossroads had shown that.
Moreover and yet again, the magician was only one man. The lands of the Principate were vast and the areas controlled directly or indirectly by the Phaelle'n were nearly equal in size. This war would engage much of the civilized world and as tired as the phrase had become, it would forever be true -- Mar could not be in two places at once.
Men were needed -- men to stand in the line, men to sail the skyships, men to fight from the skies in the manner of this new, magical warfare.
Key to Magic 03 King Page 18