Key to Magic 03 King

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

"A lot of places are still burning and there are some very big craters, but a few parts look like they just suffered a big storm. You're thinking about trying to go down there?"

  "My ... relatives are there."

  The man shook his head. "I wouldn't bother, son. If you can call it that, we were lucky. I'm magic deficient and so are all the grandkids. For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I'm glad of it. If we had had any magical devices with us, we'll all be dead just like everyone else in our tour group."

  Rhynn nodded. Maybe the man really had been lucky. On average, only one person in one hundred thousand was MD. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me." He thought a moment. "Could I get you some water or something to eat?"

  "We have a place to go," the man, who still had not given his name, told Rhynn. The clear implication was that he would share no more than that.

  "Well, good luck, sir."

  "Good luck to you as well."

  When Rhynn went back to the cabin, he told Eilia, "I want to go back to the head of the trail and take a look at the City. Those people were all MD and that's why they survived."

  Eilia looked confused. "I don't understand."

  "My father was MD."

  "Oh. I didn't know."

  "He didn't want people to know. He was ashamed of it."

  "Do you think he could be alright?"

  "Not really, but I still want to take a look. If there are more people coming out of the city, we need to know about it. We're fairly exposed here, and I might need to take out time to modify the doors and windows so that we can barricade ourselves in."

  "Should Pherarl and I come with you?"

  "No, it might start raining again and I don't think he or you should be out in that. By myself, I can run, and I should be there and back before full dark."

  "Alright, but just make sure you come back."

  "I will. I promise."

  Rhynn's father had, of course, kept no modern weapons, but he did have several wide bladed hunting knifes and Rhynn, thinking about the sword that the grandfather had carried, strapped one of the knives to his belt. Aside from his filled canteen, he took nothing else. As he was in regulation physical shape, he did run most of the way, resting by slowing to a trot as needed, and reached the spot along the trail where they had slept in about an hour. He paused there for a drink and then continued.

  The downhill slope made the run easier, and he picked up a little speed, so that when he rounded a switchback curve, he had to skid to avoid colliding with the man who appeared in front of him. With considerable shock, he recognized the man and his uniform.

  "You're the sergeant from the security squad at the Command Bunker."

  "And you're Comm Spec Rhynn. I figured you were dead."

  "I thought the same about you. How many survived in the Bastion?"

  "Better than three hundred, but about a quarter of those are wounded. They're taking a break about two hundred paces behind me. What does the terrain look like above here, Comm Spec? We need a place to camp for the night."

  "Just like this. It doesn't level out much till you get to the top of the ridge. Did Vice-Commander Karhle make it?"

  "Yeah, but he's a Commander, now. He and Vice-Commander nhBrenl are in charge."

  "I don't know him."

  "You wouldn't. He's Special Group Commando."

  "Oh, right. What about Knight-Commander nhBreen?"

  "His brain's fried. His magic cooked him. He's still breathing, but nobody thinks he's going to make it. Do you want to come back and talk to Commander Karhle?"

  It was not an order or a request, just an inquiry. "Alright."

  After they had covered about half of the sergeant's estimated distance, they came to the overlook which both he and Eilia had ignored the first time. Now, in full daylight, the vista of the City spread out and he reflexively paused for a moment to take it in. Though he expected utter disaster, the extent of the devastation still stunned him.

  As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but smoke, ash, rubble, and death.

  The unnamed grandfather had been right. There was no point in going back. With such overwhelming evidence, he could not delude himself, as much as he might want to believe in the possibility, that either his father or Eilia's mother could still be alive in that.

  Without warning, the ground began to shake, rapidly increasing in tempo until he could not stand upright and the rocks of the hillock began to crack and bounce crazily. While he was thrown about by the rebellious earth, he heard a great roaring sound coming from the east, and when he turned his eyes in that direction, he saw a gray line appear on the horizon and move westward at almost incredible speed. In a few seconds, the line grew more distinct, revealing itself to be a wave of dark water a dozen storeys taller than anything that remained standing in the smoking ruins. This monstrous flood advanced relentlessly across the lowlands, mercilessly drowning what little remained of the great metropolis. Another roar started up and a similar wave came in from the west. The two met in a great clash and then subsided, leaving nothing but a troubled expanse of polluted, trash-choked sea from one horizon to the other.

  FORTY-ONE

  Telriy, sitting and holding Pip in her lap while he doodled on a scrap of paper with a piece of colored chalk, looked up as one of the workers, a woman not much younger than herself, exited the upper deck corridor. Tall, with her reddish brown hair tied up with a sawdust covered scarf and wearing a man's canvas dungarees and matching shirt, the young woman started toward the hatch leading below, glanced over at Telriy, and then, after a slight hesitation, crossed into the band of bright yellow sunlight that the warehouse's windows laid across the skyship. Mornings in Khalar were a good bit cooler than further south, and Telriy had placed her chair to take advantage of the warming light.

  "Excuse me, my lady, but are these your and Merchant Drath's children?"

  Telriy smiled encouragingly, welcoming the company. For the most part, the men and women that Mar had hired to repair the skyship had made a point of not concerning themselves with anything that did not directly relate to their work. Thus far, there had been almost no unnecessary interaction between them and the crew. With Mar gone off to, as he had put it, "scout opportunities," and Yhejia and Aisle supervising their children and the Auxiliaries while the latter did laundry, she had volunteered to watch the youngest members of the crew, Pip and the baby Tyis, who was napping in her crib next to Telriy's chair.

  "No, he's Yhejia's and she's Aiyse's. Why do you ask?"

  "Oh, well, it just seems that you're so much in love that you'd have already started a family."

  Telriy laughed. "We do?" She pointed at Yhejia's chair. "I'm Telriy. Sit, if you have a minute."

  "Thank you, I suppose I could take a short break." The young woman settled into the chair with an almost practiced grace, as if sitting daintily were a skill in which she had been drilled. "I'm Saeythe bhi' Trhisgan."

  "I've never heard that prefix before. Does it mean that you're the wife of Trhisgan?"

  Saeythe grinned. "Yes. It's archaic. I read it in a fourth century compilation of romantic poetry."

  "I see," Telriy said evenly. And she did. Mar had told her the story. This vapor-headed girl had abandoned a comfortable, privileged life to marry a carpenter's apprentice and endure the rest of her life in squalor and want. What an idiot. "Your husband is one of the carpenters?"

  "Yes! Well, an apprentice actually, but he will be a journeyman in only two more years." Saeythe laid her hands on her abdomen. "We're very much in love. Our first baby will be born in seven months. I'm so excited!"

  Drawn by the bubble in the young woman's tone, Pip looked up from his scribble and grinned at Saeythe. "I'm Pip!"

  The boy was actually saying, "I'm the Prince!" But it seemed impossible that anyone but those who knew would figure that out.

  Saeythe giggled and made a baby talk face. "You sure are! I bet you're the best Pip there is, aren't you?"

 
; Telriy resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "Congratulations! I'm happy for you."

  "Thank you! What about you? Are you hoping for children?"

  "Oh, yes. Someday, that is."

  "We're going to have four, two boys and two girls, if the Gods will it. We're going to name them after great poets..."

  Telriy did not interrupt as Saeythe chattered on, talking about all things baby. It was a harmless diversion from her own oppressive thoughts and it was mildly pleasant to simply sit and listen while not having to render any of the various roles that she was compelled to portray with the Mhajhkaeirii and Mar. Relaxing mentally and physically, she nodded occasionally and made a few sounds of agreement from time to time to keep the other woman motivated. Eventually, though, Saeythe ran through her store of opinions and comments about babies, poets, love, husbands, family life, and the world in general.

  "This must be the oddest barge that I have ever seen," she opined with easy camaraderie in a nomadic change of subject. "I may should not tell you this, but my husband's father says that it will probably sink the first time you put it in the river. He says that none of the seams are tight enough, even after you have them caulked, to be water tight. He also said the beam of the vessel is to narrow to catch the current well enough to make headway."

  "Ah. Well, that's Drath's business," Telriy improvised. "He doesn't like it when I concern myself with his projects, so I just hold my peace."

  "That's probably for the best. Men can be such dunces, can't they? Has he said why he had it dragged in here in the middle of the night instead of into a drydock on the river?"

  "Oh, I don't know," Telriy replied breezily. "Something about hiding his new design from competitors."

  Saeythe lifted her shoulders. "I suppose that makes sense. Well, I'd better be getting back. Papa Thyrael says that we'll be finished in the morning, if we get all the decking back in today."

  "Excellent," Telriy approved, smiling. "Drath will be pleased, I'm sure." She certainly was. Though she was still trying to work out the details, particularly a means to get all the Mhajhkaeirii off the skyship before her departure, she planned to take Number One with her when she left.

  After Saeythe bid her a good day and departed, Telriy let Pip get down on the deck to draw stick figures on the planks, then let her hand rest for a moment on her own belly.

  There were no physical signs yet, but she knew. She could already sense it in the either, that tiny bit of life, her daughter, growing inside of her. But that was her secret and her secret it would remain.

  FORTY-TWO

  With the repairs to the skyship scheduled to be completed by the next day, Mar determined that if he were going to make one last effort to recoup his loses -- Ulor's purse was down to less than one thalar in silver and copper -- then it must be that very night. The previous day, a foray into the Old City had been forestalled by a heavy rain that had started up the in the late afternoon and had not faded away till daybreak.

  "I'm going to take a walk over to the Old City docks," he told Ulor early in the morning, just after Thyrael and his crew showed up and started work. "I'll be back this afternoon."

  "Aye, sir. I'll get the men to get into their gear and we'll be ready in five minutes."

  "No, I'll be going out alone today. I intend to do a bit of sightseeing and I don't need a crowd around to draw attention, if you know what I mean."

  "Yes, sir, but I don't think that it's a good idea that you move about the city without protection."

  Slightly annoyed, Mar tapped his own chest with a thumb. "Magician, remember? Besides, Khalar is my city. I know every corner, every rooftop, every street, and every hideaway in it. I know the places and people to stay away from and I know how to get out of trouble if it drops in on my head. Don't worry, I won't have any problems."

  The subaltern did not look convinced. "Aye, sir."

  Mar went to look for Telriy before he left. He found her sitting and brushing her hair on the cot they shared in a small corner of the storerooms. She put the brush down when she saw him, but did not get up.

  "I'm going out into the city for a while," he told her. "I'll be back after midday."

  For a moment, she looked as if she thought of saying something, but then just rose, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pressing the full length of her body against him, and kissed him fiercely.

  Surprised but pleased, he returned the kiss ardently.

  After a moment or two, she broke away and held him at arms' length, her eyes studying his face. Then she said, very quietly, "Goodbye, Mar."

  Wondering what had made her so somber, but assuming it to be one of the "women's moods" that he had heard the armsmen joke about, Mar grinned in an effort to lighten the tension. "I'm just going to scout opportunities. I'll only be gone a few hours."

  She just nodded, went back to the cot, and resumed brushing her hair.

  Legate Rhel and three of the legionnaires had the duty this morning at the front entrance. Though Eishtren and the other armsmen tended to stay out of sight as much as possible, the Quaestor had insisted on a continuous guard at the front and rear entrances in addition to the watch on the roof. Four legionnaires, two from the Quaestor's section, Scahll and Dhem, and two of Ulor's Royal Guard, Phaesr and Thridh, pretended to be lounging idly on either side. Mar had not had much opportunity to speak or interact with the later. Both fit the pattern of those long in service to the Princedom: approaching middle age, tall and muscular, taciturn to a fault, and, by all indications, fiercely loyal.

  "Good morning, sir," Rhel offered, obviously stifling his impulse to salute.

  "Good morning, Rhel. Could your men open the doors?"

  "Yes, sir!" The four legionnaires hauled one of the interior sections to one side and opened a gap about a pace wide, letting in a shaft of sunlight. "Are you getting ready to go out, sir? Should I send someone to remind Subaltern Ulor?"

  Once again, Mar grew annoyed. He had survived the vast bulk of his life without comrades or assistance of any kind and now everyone thought he was incapable of walking down the street without a dozen attendants.

  "Ulor won't be coming today," he told Rhel brusquely. He stepped towards the gap.

  "But, sir --" Rhel began.

  As he passed through, Mar turned his head about and glared the legate into silence.

  Striding across the not-quite-plaza, Mar saw a group of young children tossing stones into the irregular depression at its center, which the rain had made into a cloudy pool. Though they glanced his way, they did not otherwise react to his presence, remaining focused on their game and the sniping arguments it engendered

  He grinned at that. To them, he was no one, just another person walking by. For the first time in a long while he felt like the person he actually was -- just another passing stranger on the street, not a magician or a king, just Mar. His steps lightened as he turned onto the lane that led to the Blue Fortress Promenade and he firmly resolved to enjoy the solitary day, perhaps one of the last he would ever know.

  However, when he reached the Promenade, he almost turned about and went back. Not having kept tract, he had not realized that it was thirdday, and also, apparently, one of the special biennial festival days. With streamers and banners twirling overhead, the avenue was filled from one side to the other with whole families of devout pilgrims, gangs of acolytes bearing relics, shrines, near naked hermits, fakirs, and other such sacred personages (including one that appeared to be a dog), boisterous revelers who seemed simply along to enjoy the holiday, and assorted inebriated tradesmen who, of course, heartily embraced the excuse for a three day binge, especially one sanctioned by the Gods, a characteristic that thereby immunized them from the normally resulting spousal criticism.

  On a whim, he joined the parade. The pandemonium might prevent him from properly investigating his targets -- the Viceroy's Guard would have barricaded all streets in the Old City except for the route to the Plaza of the Empire -- but at least he would be practically invis
ible in the throng. Besides, it looked like a chance for a bit of harmless entertainment.

  Not worrying about his progress, he let the drift of the crowd move him along in an organic fashion. When a group of Tyrephii coalesced into a logjam and exploded in an impromptu thirty-two verse chant, he paused and bought an apple from a vendor. Afterwards, he moved on in the wake of a drove of bare-chested, self-flagellating Kurikhirists (both male and female), only to be stymied again by the mass fainting of a congregation of the adherents of the priest-philosopher d'Mhi'kindht'kychea.

  Eventually, a bit before noon, he reached the Blue Fortress gates, which were blocked wide to allow the free passage of the flood of worshipers. Here, however, the procession halted in the plaza to burn an effigy of the disgraced hero, Perclmindt, in order to commemorate his failure complete the Forty-Nine Tasks decreed by the Gods to free his love, Phielia, from the Outerworld and the salacious desires of Ptem-ko-ah. When the incompetent and cheerfully derided Perclmindt was a pile of ash, priests distributed sweets and bakery treats to the on looking children.

  Unconcerned, he wandered around the blockage and waited till a chair became free at a table on the terrace of the tavern -- the very same one where he and Waleck had sat to wait passage through the fortress -- on the northern side of the plaza. Following of the burning of the unfortunate Perclmindt, Altar Maidens of the fertility goddess Bhist-gem-naet set up for a presentation of a morality play involving gigantic puppets of a dragon, an owl, a frog, a concubine, and a pickle jar. When a waiter fought his way through the press, Mar ordered tea and a plate of the traditional holy day fare of sweet pickles, fried onions, sharp cheese, and a complimentary cookie in the shape of an icon of Bhenthiabuka, and languidly watched the performance.

  He finished his light meal at about the same time that the play concluded and rejoined the procession when it moved on through the gates. After traversing the courts and inner strong points of the Blue Fortress under the stoic gaze of Imperial legionnaires, he walked up the ramps onto the Blue Ice Bridge in loose association with a herd of adolescents furiously ringing chimes to scare off the minions of Soohlmed. It was cooler above the water, and the pilgrims and celebrants slowed to luxuriate in the fresh breeze.