Mobius

by Garon Whited

  While those did their work, I bought more supplies for the journey and some tools. Two pup tents, shovels, hammers, a barrel for water, two waterskins, and much more. The cart was pretty well loaded by the time I finished. At least I didn’t need to bring many cutting tools. Saw, axe, chisel—I have a Saber of Sharpness. What do you want cut? It’s like a lightsaber, except it doesn’t set things on fire. Firebrand does that.

  Leisel and I regrouped at one of Sarashda’s fountain squares. The wealthier houses had running water, but most people gathered around fountains to collect household water. It was a natural place for market stalls, peddler’s carts, hawkers, shills, barkers, and plain old-fashioned gossip.

  I put a minor zap spell on the cart. Don’t reach past the railings. It’s like touching an electrified cow fence. I heard three yelps before we made it to the fountain. I filled the water barrel and the skins while waiting.

  Leisel arrived with a couple dozen amazons. My first thought was not along the lines of, “Oh, goodie.”

  “What the hell?”

  Leisel’s expression was startled.

  “You don’t like women?”

  “It depends on how they’re prepared. Did you hire a platoon?”

  “Yes.”

  I had to admit, they weren’t fainting-flower types. Each and every one was armed and armored and looked capable of dealing with trouble or dishing it out. Make no mistake, they fit in well with the local culture—brass highlights, some ornamental trim, nice lacquer and enamel work, tooled leather, all of it. Tasteful. Quite beautiful, for the most part. But it was the silk over steel, the velvet over iron. Lissette would like them. Torvil would like them. Kammen would like them, but he likes pretty much every woman he meets, or so I hear.

  “May I ask why?”

  “Several reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “You may not notice, being a man and of the First, but there are no women in the First. We have a hard time finding training, and the armor is expensive—especially with the enchantments to make it lighter. I’ve promised them a chance to practice and learn while earning good money.”

  “I can help with all that, sure.”

  “Women also find it harder to get decent jobs. Because our skills are for hire, most employers think we are for hire, as well.”

  “Ah.”

  “I know you don’t think so, so they’re on for this. Plus—and this benefits you—we’re all the unemployed warrior women in Sarashda. You need more. Word will get out to other cities, and not only to the warriors. People will start to talk and you need people to know we’re out there if you expect to generate any interest. The man who hired every woman warrior in Sarashda and went off into the hinterlands? Gossip gold!”

  “Leisel?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I originally hired you for reasons having nothing to do with your brains.”

  “Is that a remark about my appearance, sir?”

  “No. It’s a comment on the level of intellect required for guard duty. I hired you based on your solicitation of work and the skills implied by your weapons and gear. Yet, you persist in having a brain and proving yourself, over and over, superior to the requirements of your initial position. Very well, Captain Leisel. They’re hired.” I handed her the sack of my remaining coins. “We’re going away from civilization. Take charge of your horse and the supplies I already bought. Equip my guards—” I used the word kravirem, which meant personal guards, rather than aizargi, meaning sentry. The aizargi were low-status warriors, while the kravirem were much more respected. “—with whatever you think we’ll need.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “I’m going ahead to clear the road. I’ll meet you in the village of Spogeyzer, the last piece of real civilization before we jump off into the wilderness.” I looked over the troops again. “They know they’ll be cutting trees and clearing land?”

  “They do. It’s the jungle wilds. There are dangerous beasts and barbarians. Laborers are too cowardly to go out, so we get the shit detail, as usual.” Leisel shrugged. “A warrior’s life is dust, mud, or blood.”

  “Isn’t it, though. All right. Get busy. Don’t forget to bring tools, though. I didn’t shop for a platoon, just for us. I’ll see you when you get there.”

  Leisel shouted something, a wordless sort of sound, kind of like “Hrup!” I assume it means something like “attention on deck,” or “hooah,” or “kree.” The loose group of amazons snapped heads around, faced me, and punched their fists together in front of themselves at shoulder level.

  I think I’ve been saluted.

  Firebrand! Do I do the same thing back at them?

  They expect it.

  So I did it. I mounted Bronze and she snorted red flames, the drama steed. We took off for the west road out of Sarashda. Navigating the city wasn’t too difficult, but Bronze really stretched her legs once we were outside the walls.

  As a point of interest, the blue-green sphere of light parked itself slightly above and in front of her bobbing head, bouncing in time with her. It had no trouble pacing us, a fact which annoyed Bronze considerably.

  Tauta, 25th Day of Varinskir

  So, eleven-day weeks means the twelfth is the first of the week, then the twenty-third. The third day of the week is the third, the fourteenth, and the twenty-fifth.

  The Sarashda warmeet was today. Leisel insisted I go to it, claiming it would be good advertising. I asked if she or any of the other ladies wanted to come with me, but there were no takers. Riding double on Bronze didn’t appeal, which neither Bronze nor I understand. I think Bronze intimidates them. Most of them. Anyway, they only arrived late yesterday, so I can understand not wanting to turn right back around. Besides, with the roads the way they are, they think the trip is rugged and unpleasant.

  Strangely enough, the roads are pretty good from here to the village of Spogeyzer. A bit twisty due to the terrain, perhaps, and kind of narrow, but I understand improvements are in the works. At least my road work doesn’t involve orange cones and blocking off a lane while nobody does anything.

  During the days before their arrival, I pumped up the rock-forming spells and made sure the bridge, at least, was fully grown and solid. Bronze and I even dragged a couple of tons of stone out onto the bridge as it grew, making material more easily available for it to use. While the spells did their thing, I found us a good spot alongside the stream and started clearing land.

  Felling a tree with a Saber of Sharpness is slightly more complicated than whacking it near the base. It’s easiest to make three slices—two take a wedge out of one side, in the direction I want it to fall, then the last one, from the opposite side, allows it to do so. While it lies there, Firebrand goes point-first into the stump. I do a preliminary trim of branches and the top. Bronze follows, nibbling the nubs and turning a trunk into a log while I move on to cut down another tree. By then, Firebrand is in a ash-filled hole.

  I’m a walking environmental disaster. Greenpeace probably wants me dead, too. Or do they just care about whales? Make it the Rainforest Alliance.

  On a more environment-friendly note, at least I exercised some foresight when delineating the minesite entrances. Instead of simply pulling back the rock of the mountainsides, the primary dig points shed quite a lot of dirt and started subdividing into blocks. Once the spells exposed the rock face beneath the soil, they developed cracks and grooves, all sinking deeper into the rock and connecting in layers, forming—in essence—a giant pile of bricks.

  It may be as expensive as a trans-world gate in terms of magical power, but it beats the hell out of quarrying. It’ll slow down over time as my initial charge is expended. It’ll only go as fast as the power intake portions will let it, but the local magic is fairly high. It should still be fast enough to be useful, providing brick-like rocks for building! I’d join the Masons, but I’m pretty sure they’re part of the craftsman caste here.

  With logs, poles, stone blocks, and mud mortar, we’ve got buildin
g materials galore. I played with the logs and straighter branches, pacing off their lengths, doing some math, and drawing for a bit in a sandy bank of the stream.

  The principle of a log cabin is simple enough. Turns out I needed to experiment with a few of the extra lengths of log to get the notches right. There’s an art to getting the things to interlock and it’s not obvious until you spend a while trying to make it work. Cut the notches too deep and you weaken the logs too much, as well as leaving big gaps inside the point where the notches intersect. Cut them too shallow and the logs have big gaps down their length because they don’t fit well together. It’s trickier than you think. It doesn’t help to discover the trees aren’t all perfectly straight and round, either.

  There will be a sawmill, I swear.

  I finally got the hang of it late the first night and started assembling a long, log cabin. It would serve as a temporary shelter—a barracks, really—while we worked on other arrangements. For myself, I built a smaller shack up by the waterfall. I put in a hollowed-out log to route water through it, making it a private bathroom. The log “pipe” changed direction twice on the way in, keeping it dark inside, which was another key feature. Later, I would have a more permanent house, but a hidey-hole and a shower would do for now.

  My pet light also has a little place all its own next to the showerhouse. It’s about the size of a doghouse and has the same power diagram the cave did. The light seems content to sit there and soak up leftover energy from the dynamos while most of it goes to my altar ego’s crystal. I’ve tried to contact him in multiple ways, but he’s not answering. He may be dead, but I can’t know for certain. I have to assume he’s recovering.

  The light, however, is something I can see. It continues to change colors. Predominantly blue, the radial veins from the center are also shot through with strands of yellow, giving it a greenish appearance. There are also a few deep, dark blues and some shades of purple.

  I have no idea what this means. What I do know is I ought to find a name for it. I’ll think about it.

  The local bear also wandered over to see what the tree-falling-in-a-forest ruckus was about. We had a couple of minutes of staring at each other while I projected a simplified version of two futures into its mind. If it stayed in the valley area, it would be a rug—the valley has a new alpha predator. If it went off to find a new territory, it would live. Bears aren’t incredibly smart, but I’m psychic. It slowly grasped the idea and chose to go for an extended walk.

  When the wagons arrived, I was more than a little startled. I didn’t expect three wagons, a dozen horses, and several tons of supplies. I asked Leisel about the supplies.

  “You buy things in a city, they’re expensive,” she told me. “You’re dressed as one of the First. You never get a good price.”

  Now I feel all upset about being consistently cheated and not noticing.

  They were surprised at the barracks, but more surprised at the divot-pocked land cleared out of the forest. The divots were places where the earth collapsed into the holes left by missing stumps and root systems. We unpacked—and I mean “we.” It startled them when I pitched in—and sorted everything out into the barracks. I’m glad I included crossbeams at the tops of the walls. They were good places to hang things. After all was said and done, there was room to sleep… in shifts. It worked out, mostly because they automatically assumed there would always be someone standing watch.

  Today, they’re finishing the roof of the barracks. I cut shingles last night, so they should have no problems with material. Leisel also rose early to sort out who she wanted to task with cutting down trees for a guard tower, digging holes for the corner posts, assembling the plow, forming a hunting party, digging a latrine, scouting the area, and everything else. She’s been thinking about it the whole trip out, I guess. I helped where I could, which meant wherever she would let me, until she reminded me of the warmeet and sent me on my way.

  Due to the length of the trip, we departed well before sunrise. In Sarashda, I found a bathhouse, paid them well, and occupied a private room for my transformation. I was nice enough to cast cleaning spells, though. The maid service didn’t deserve to be subjected to such things. There was nothing I could do about the filthy water, though.

  Knowing the routine a little better, I dressed and went out to breakfast. I had a light meal—not more than twice what normal people eat—before heading on to the Arena. Jolus and Galtos were already there, along with a dozen others. I went over to greet them as Hazir entered. We exchanged our hellos and Hazir asked the question.

  “So, my friend, I had not thought to see you so soon. Did you not depart with your company of warriors?”

  “I have a fast horse.”

  “Your steed can cover such a distance?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

  “She’s a very fast horse.”

  “I am impressed.”

  “Tell her, sometime,” I suggested. “She likes compliments.”

  “Indeed? Then I shall do so.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve got the energy,” Galtos commented. Jolus nudged him in the ribs, hard.

  “Energy?” I repeated.

  “He’s making a joke,” Jolus assured me.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not getting the joke,” I admitted. Jolus looked pained. Hazir chuckled.

  “They concern themselves about the reaction of a First to Galtos’ humor.” He turned his eyes to Galtos. “May I speak to assure him of the innocence of your gibe?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “He refers to the rumor of your absconding with the—and I disagree with the epithet—the ‘warrior whores.’ All the warriors know better, but there are those of other castes who cannot help but think of any fighting woman for hire is, to be gentle, also ‘for hire,’ if you take the meaning.”

  “It’s been expressed to me by the ladies, yes.”

  “While it is by no means an absolute,” he went on, “most take exception to the assumption. It is not entirely without justification—there are always those who, for one reason or another, will perform other services for their employer. You may find some of those you have hired are willing.”

  “’Specially since you’re the only man,” Galtos added. “Keeping ’em all to yourself like that.” Jolus and Hazir looked pained.

  “Technically true,” Hazir replied. “I have doubts about the rationale behind his actions. Al?”

  “It was Leisel’s idea,” I told him. “She thought an all-woman force would cause gossip to fly faster than an arrow. I’ll relay your compliments on the brilliant effectiveness of her plan.”

  Galtos’ mouth fell open. Jolus laughed. Hazir merely smiled and nodded.

  “You’re not building a harem,” Hazir guessed. “You’re building a greater House.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Do not equivocate,” he admonished. “Your House, like mine, is merely a family line, not so?”

  “True.”

  “There is no better way to prove you are worthy to lead one of the greater Houses than to bring civilization to a barbarian land.”

  “There’s adoption,” Jolus suggested.

  “He’s too old,” Galtos pointed out.

  “There’s precedent,” Jolus insisted.

  “The House of Arn had no heirs,” Hazir informed him. “Cherask of Loben was a great general, had four wives, and over a dozen children. Is it any wonder he was named the heir to the House of Arn by his patron?”

  “No,” Galtos admitted, “but you gotta get in good with a great House.”

  “Yes, and pay almost a third of the House coffers to the Temple,” Hazir pointed out. “Or you may avoid much of the politics and the dependence on another’s goodwill by carving out a new state with your own hands. Which would you prefer, Jolus? Galtos? I know I have little enough desire to be a toady to some manzhani who is well aware of everyone else’s desire to inherit his power and position—soon.”

  “Don’t recall the last time it�
��s been done,” he admitted.

  “Nearly a hundred years ago,” Hazir supplied. “The northern reaches, between the Range and the sea, were finally tamed and cleansed of kustoni.”

  “Still seems like a lot of work,” Jolus muttered, not really arguing.

  “It is,” I assured him. “Trees to be felled, land to be cleared, farms to be built, all of it. Years will pass before it’s much more than a village. But it has its compensations.”

  “It does?”

  “I’m not being bothered by Tobar, nor any other high-ranking whoever. I’m in absolute charge of the place. Nobody wants taxes, yet, because it isn’t really a civilized region, yet. The potential wealth of my valley is enormous, in farmland, timber, and mining. And, maybe best of all…” I trailed off.

  “Yes?”

  “There are about thirty women willing to protect me with their bodies.” I grinned at him to show I could make jokes as well as take one—no hard feelings over the earlier assumption. Let the rumors fly. We wanted rumors so people would come to see for themselves.

  “Hmm. Need another warrior?”

  “Not at present, but we could use some farmers. And some professional miners. I don’t suppose you know any? Or masons, carpenters, or blacksmiths? Running into town to pick up a keg of nails is wearying. I’d rather build a smelter, dig out the iron ore, and make our own.”

  “Iron mine?”

  “And other things. But I need professional diggers to get it out.”

  Jolus looked thoughtful. Galtos and Hazir did, too.

  “It sounds,” Hazir began, “as though your valley—what have you named it, by the way?”

  “La Mancha.”

  “It sounds as though La Mancha valley has much to recommend it. It would seem you have chosen well.”

  “I put a lot of thought and effort into this venture,” I pointed out. “I searched a lot of places before I decided on this one.”