The forces of the Principate, garrisoned in a hundred different ports and depots, would need be brought under direct command. Then, the overt allegiance of the legions and fleets of the Sister Cities must be obtained. But these limited forces would not be enough. Hundreds of new legions populated with tens of thousands new armsmen must take the field before the monks and their magic devices could be defeated.
A king, a living, breathing legend, would draw those.
Some would come for the adventure, the glory, or the honor of the epic struggle. Ghorn knew intuitively that these imaginary concepts had nothing to do with the heartless business of war, but he also knew that they could not be ignored. Most men and women needed something from inside themselves – something of the spiritual heart and not the rational mind – to stand in a battle line and look death in the eye.
Some would come for hatred and revenge. The Monks had made many enemies in the decade since they had revealed themselves to be something other than just another secretive cult.
Some would come for gold. Those would have to be watched. The merely greedy could be controlled, but the true mercenaries would require constant supervision. Mercenaries had a bad habit of changing sides when they were offered a higher price.
Regardless of their motives, all would demand a banner to rally to, a center to defend. A king endowed with the fantastical power of magic, sprung out of fable and history, perhaps even the champion of the gods, would serve that function well.
But, once more, what of himself? Did he have need of a king?
In retrospect, it was fortunate that he had been incapacitated when the Oath had been sworn. The loss of the City had shaken him then and still cut at him now, and he, like so many others, may have been swayed by the emotion of the moment to drop to his knees and spill his blood into the dirt.
At this moment, however, it might be imprudent to add his allegiance to those of Mhiskva and the rest. The Blood Oath was reputed to be unbreakable; once given, all historical sources agreed, it could not be withdrawn. What exactly that meant, he was unsure, but he decided that preserving his own independence, at least for now, would grant him a far greater spectrum of options.
He stood, waited till the council chamber grew quiet, and announced, "High-Captain Mhiskva will now give a report of his successful raid against the enemy."
This brought murmurs of surprise and grins from many of the civilians. Ghorn had not made the operation common knowledge.
Mhiskva did not rise; sitting, he still overtopped everyone else. "Per orders, we disembarked from Number Three near the village of Kaeoyi, moved to a point near the Northern Highway, and traveled parallel to it for a period of seven days, keeping it under constant observation. During this time, we noted numerous movements of enemy forces and supply trains. Using spheres supplied by the King, we destroyed five bridges on the Lower Gray, severing every crossing point between Old Marsh and the falls at Pzin in the Khormaraen Hills. We also attacked and eliminated several small, isolated enemy groups, none of these larger than a section, as well as one major supply train. Surprise and the devastating power of the sand missiles allowed us to achieve complete success, and we suffered only minimal casualties, with fourteen armsmen receiving minor wounds and none killed."
"Thank you, Captain Mhiskva," Ghorn approved.
What Mhiskva had not disclosed was that the monks had quickly adapted to the small raids by organizing their supplies into heavily guarded caravans, throwing a pontoon bridge across the Lower Gray and stationing a full legion to protect it, and firing half a dozen farm villages in retaliation.
Knowledge of the extent to which the monks had begun to take control of the lands around Mhajhkaei had been the major objective and the most important product of the mission.
The prince focused on the civilians. "We have yet to address the matter of funds. Our current purse is practically non-existent and we have amassed a considerable debt to the merchants of Elboern. Some of that will be settled when I am able to secure monies from my family's estates in Pamplyea, but that income will not sustain our purchases for long. I would like to call on any and all that have resources available outside the City to contribute. Without access to the gold generated by normal taxation and duties, however, I believe that very soon it will be necessary that we forebear payment and simply requisition, formally or informally, the supplies and material necessary to prosecute the war."
Ghorn saw a smile flit across the magician's face. Whatever else Mar might be, it had long since become clear to Ghorn that he was also a well-practiced thief. While this skill had proven beneficial up to this point, it also tended to make the young man oblivious to danger to his own person. That might have to be discouraged in future, but of necessity, for now, it was something that Ghorn would have to tolerate.
"With the King's permission, I propose that we begin work immediately to convert some of the skyships to sail. I will depart as soon as a crew is trained to bear instructions to and organize the legions and fleets of Mhajhkaei, in all places that they might be, and summon the member states of the Principate, and indeed all the peoples of the Silver Sea, to make war on the Brotherhood of Phaelle."
TWENTY-SEVEN
17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 57th Day of Glorious Work
(Thirteenthday, Waxing, 3rd Summermoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
A farm ten leagues northeast of Mhajhkaei
Kaml'sh swung his leg over the saddle and dropped tiredly to the ground. One of the field workers, a neophyte, ran up to take charge of his winded horse.
"He will need to be brushed and given only a bit of water until he has cooled down," Kaml'sh warned the young man as he led the gelding away.
The proprietor of the way station, disguised in the simple clothes of a Mhajhkaeirii'n yeoman, hurried from the door of the farmhouse. Without raising his arm, Kaml'sh made a simple, unobtrusive sign with the thumb and index finger of his left hand.
With his face betraying no reaction, the approaching brother gave the equally simple sign of recognition of the followers of the True Path. "Greetings, brother! I am Senior Brother Mhlaon."
"And I, Junior Brother Kaml'sh."
Mhlaon clasped arms with Kaml'sh, lowering his voice to greet the rider with the One True Creed. “There are no gods. There is only magic.”
“And the Restorer shall come!” Kaml'sh responded fervently. His faith in the True Path and the Restorer were the driving force of his life.
“Indeed he shall, brother!” Mhlaon gestured to the roofed, open-walled kitchen to the right side of the dwelling and to a table bearing a still steaming pot of stew. “I know you must be famished from your long ride. Let us eat while we converse. We may speak freely, the other brethren are about their daily tasks and we shall be undisturbed.”
“Thank you, brother," Kaml'sh readily agreed. "Save for the strength granted me by the Restorer, I would be spent.”
Mhlaon waited until his fellow devotee had taken a long drink of cool water from his flagon. “How far have you come?”
"From the Great Forest beyond Yhelbton. In their final escape, the Mhajhkaeirii were unable to generate much speed from their flying ships -- perhaps because of the great mass of their fleet -- and I was able to follow their trail. Though I did not attempt to approach it closely, I saw their destination, a great up-thrust pillar of rock."
"You ride for the city?"
"Yes, I bring reports of my observations to the First Inquisitor."
"We have heard many rumors of the Mhajhkaeirii sorcerer's power here."
"Even rumors could not accurately describe his control of magic. Brother, he created a ring of ethereal fire completely around the legions that the Archdeacon sent against him. It was still burning when I returned south!"
Mhlaon gasped. "That may be a fulfillment of the Third Prophecy!"
"Exactly! I intend to propose him as a Candidate!"
Mhlaon looked stunned. "You think him to be the Restorer?"
An ecstatic grin split Mhlaon's face. "Would that it were so, brother! I have often dreamed that the Restorer would appear in my lifetime!"
"As have I, and I am convinced that it has come to pass."
"But what of the Test? There must be proof that his Ability will breed true. Has he children?"
"No. Or, at least, none that the Mhajhkaeirii have knowledge of. But he has a new wife. If the natural scheme of things proceeds as it should, there will be offspring within the year."
"But we must have access to the firstborn to administer the Test. With the open war between the Brotherhood and the sorcerer, it may be impossible for any of those who walk the True Path to do so."
Kaml'sh grinned broadly. "It will not be difficult at all, brother! The wife is one of us!"
Mhlaon's mouth dropped open. "But how could that be?"
"A day or two after their evacuation from the city, I saw the sorcerer and his wife amongst the throng. When I approached them, I made the hand signs, seeking to discover if there might be any others in the crowd who follow the True Path. Only she recognized the sign and only she responded!"
"This is fantastic! Were you able to communicate with her?"
"No, but I am certain that I can persuade the First Inquisitor to allow me to return and seek a way to infiltrate their new camp. Once among the Mhajhkaeirii, I should have no trouble making clandestine contact with her and relaying to her the instructions of the Cadre."
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mar hurried down the stone steps. "You're sure the door is bronze?"
Phehlahm, rushing behind bearing a torch, confirmed, "Aye, my lord king. One o' the smiths had a look at it and he's sure o' it."
The stairwell down to the cellars of the square tower followed the sides of a rectangular shaft, with wide landings at each level. The lowest level was some five manheight below the surface, cool and unflooded, and Aerlon had ordered it cleared for use as a root cellar. Workers at the task had discovered a passage sealed with common brick and when they had broken open a hole in the brick to see what lay beyond, they had found the door.
A good bit ahead, Chaer and E’hve clattered downward, pausing at each landing to eye the dark openings of the vaulted corridors before moving on. Behind Phehlahm, the footsteps of the rest of what Mar had come to think of as The Hangers-On made a racket like a stampeding herd of cattle on the wallowed basalt stairs. The Hangers-On were a rotating mix of stocky, veteran legionnaires and marines, never fewer than five and often as many as eight, who day and night occupied the large common room next to the tower chamber in which he slept. By overt appearance, the band was simply an ad-hoc group of enthusiasts engaged in an ongoing game of strategy involving small carvings of ships, numbered tokens, dice, and complicated calculations, but the game mysteriously never reached a conclusion. Today, all six of those on duty -- Mar had no real doubt that Mhiskva had ordered extra guards for him after the clandestine Phaelle'n attack on Number Three became commonly known, but had wasted no breath in an objection -- had just coincidentally felt moved by curiosity to come along.
Mar rubbed his left arm, soothing a fleeting ache. Just this morning he had had Phehlahm help him remove the splints. Learning to mend his own bones had been a difficult process of trial and error. He still had no idea why ethereal healing worked well on some and poorly on others, and why some processes were easy in some portions of the body and difficult in others. He had gone back to question Aunt Whelsi on several occasions and while her insights had greatly increased his understanding of the physical structure of the organs, bones, and humors, they had done nothing to expand his ethereal knowledge.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Mar's two primary bodyguards moved through a wide, arched passageway into a large, unadorned vault with an expansive ceiling. The stone work here, sheltered from wind and rain, was tight, solid, and unmarred. Mar had expected dampness, but the lamp-lit coarse-grained rock showed no mold or mildew. While the workers had already swept clean this large chamber, walls and floors, there remained a good bit of dust and windblown refuse, desiccated leaves and the like, in the numerous smaller, alcove-like side rooms and a number of cleaners continued to work.
As Mar entered, an older, slim woman with hair done up in pins and wearing too big work trousers and shirt came out of a room to the right bearing a filled bucket. When she saw him, she called out to the others, a varied collection of similarly attired men and women, young and old, and had them line up as if for inspection.
Not unexpectedly, the first woman curtseyed. "Lady Constaz nh' Leaer nhi' Mohra of the House of Sihnel, my lord king. I'm foreman of this gang."
"Well met," Mar told her. "This all looks good. Do you have everything you need?"
Lady Constaz nodded confidently. "Yes, we do. We've made our own straw brooms and have checked out shovels and buckets from Vice-Commander Berhl. We'll be all done down here by this evening."
"Excellent work." He thought the compliment redundant and perhaps pandering, but had quickly learned that such things were simply part of the kingship game.
Then, as he had made his habit, he went to each of the others, got their names, and asked after their situation. Phehlahm, staying close, would take note of any dire difficulties and relate them to the appropriate officer, who would not fail to attend immediately any matter referred by the King. In the last couple of days, the young marine had become his aide and secretary in all but name. While it might become necessary at some point in future, Mar had refrained for the present from making any official royal appointments. The idea actually struck him as somewhat asinine.
Returning to the foreman, he asked her, "You told Phehlahm that you think the door is magical?"
“Yes, that we do, my lord king," Lady Constaz replied with some eagerness. "When touched, it gives off light, but there's no fire!"
The door was in one of the rooms at the far end. Lady Constaz's gang had chipped out the bricks, stacked them neatly to one side, and swept up the mortar.
As soon as his eyes fell upon the door, he realized that the description was accurate. Both the door, a single, flat, featureless panel, and its plain casing, were bronze. However, that was the only resemblance that this door had with the one he had found -- it seemed so long ago now -- in the Waste. The face of this one was an uninterrupted blank of metal, with neither latch nor keyhole.
Without hesitation, Lady Constaz tapped the panel with a finger. The tap elicited a tinny, muffled tone and then, for barely a full moment, the small room brightened with a soft white glow. The light brightened quickly, by all appearances emanating from the face of the door, and then extinguished abruptly.
Mar could detect easily that the light was ethereal, and when he stepped close to the door and studied it, he also found it to have flux bound within it. He spent several moments examining the largest of the modulations, which he perceived as a sinuous, woven globe.
He nudged a juncture and the construction rearranged itself, portions rotating, others sliding, still more elevating. The complex movement created new intersections while dissolving some, but not all, of the old ones. The original juncture that he had moved no longer existed. He tried another and again the construction rearranged itself, but the final disposition was entirely different. A new juncture of fourteen strands emitted a regular pulse of cloudily vibrant cerise. He pushed another juncture at random. The first pulse faded as its juncture dissolved, but the shifting strands created another juncture that also began to emit an identical pulse of the cerise flux. This juncture had only eight strands and was in an entirely different hemisphere of the globe. Shifting three other junctions resulted only once in a juncture alignment that emitted the pulse.
He stepped away and crossed his arms contemplatively.
“My lord king?” Phehlahm queried.
"It has a magical lock. At the moment, I have no idea ho
w to open it."
"Should we have it sealed away again?" Lady Constaz wondered. "Is it dangerous?"
Mar shook his head. "Not that I can tell, but I'd advise that it be left undisturbed. If it's damaged, it could detonate."
"It might be best to have a wooden gate put across this room, then," the foreman suggested. "Something that can be barred to keep people out."
"Good idea," Mar agreed. "Would you let Vice-Captain Berhl know?"
"Of course, my lord king!"
Mar headed back up to the surface, herding The Hangers-On before him. Chaer, E’hve, and Phehlahm took their usual places in the parade.
This morning, just prior to Phehlahm's arrival with news of the door, he had resolved to again broach the subject of the magical texts with Telriy. Having for several days considered the problem of a static magical defense for the Monolith from aerial attack, he had woken with a possible solution coalescing in his mind. If his new techniques worked, he felt that he could safely leave the Mhajhkaeirii to their own devices -- at least for a short time -- while he resumed the search for the remainder of Oyraebos' texts.
As he climbed the final flight of steps, trying to concoct an argument that would sway Telriy, he realized that he had not thought of Waleck in some time. So much had happened in such a short period that contemplation of the fate of his erstwhile employer had not had the opportunity to gain his attention. He frowned, but did not dwell on the lapse. For now, the question of what had become of the old scrapper must remain unanswered. He could see no gain in worry over circumstances that he had no power to change.
At the top of the stairwell, he entered the large room north of the tower tunnel that may once have been and was now again a barracks, filled with the cots and kits of Mhiskva's marines. He passed quickly through and exited out the open arch of the rear entrance onto the main avenue of the settlement, Chaer and E’hve again running point and The Hangers-On trailing. Walking north, he headed towards Telriy's new domicile. Within the last couple of days, the young woman had laid claim to and moved her considerable household into the standing sections of a villa like complex at the farthermost end. In the silhouette of sky shaped by the buildings to either side of the avenue, a section of Number One, floating above the villa, was clearly visible.
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