by Garon Whited
“Nope. I did want to mention a couple of formal-ish things, but I hope we don’t have to be bogged down by protocol while we discuss how to enrich both our domains.”
“You interest me. Do continue!”
“Well, I thought I might mention, first of all… one of your sons, the current ambassador.”
“Is he all right?” he asked, suddenly leaning forward.
“He’s perfectly fine, and I think he’s on his way back. He’s an ambassador; I guarantee that nothing would have happened to him even if he was far more rude than he managed.”
“Rude?” Banler frowned. “I distinctly told him to be on his best behavior!”
“He seems to think that means to be as snotty and arrogant as it is possible to be. As King, I was offended. I was offended as a private individual, to say nothing of my court.”
I didn’t mention that the court in question consisted of Tort. I’m sure Torvil, Kammen, Seldar, and Kelvin would all be just as annoyed with Melvin.
Banler looked slightly grumpy.
“Should I ask? Or should I just exile him to someplace cold, damp, and muddy?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Nice to think about, but not necessary. He seems to think that he’s a princeling, and therefore superior to any barbarian kingdom out on the frontier. If you wouldn’t mind, do you have anyone else you trust to be a representative out here? Or should I just carve a road through the mountains so we can meet in the middle?”
“I can always send—” he began, then did a small double-take. “What did you say about a road?”
“If that’s more convenient for you than sending a representative by ship, of course. We can carve a trail through the Eastrange, along the seaward side of the mountains. Maybe set up a little diplomatic stopover point in the middle where we can send people halfway, rather than sail around the Eastrange.”
“I think I like this mirror thing, actually,” he said. He placed a hand on the surface of his mirror, like putting a hand on a window, before he leaned back in his chair. “This is… rulers can actually talk to the other ruler, without all the pomp and ceremony, and without the risks of travel. I like this.”
“Oh. Sure, we can just do this, then.”
“But about this road…”
“What?”
“You could carve a road through the Eastrange?”
“Sure. It wouldn’t be any harder than making the mouth of the Caladar navigable. Say, do you still use the waterwheel I came up with for pulling the sludging chain through the river outlet?”
“We do. But slow down.”
“Sorry. What did I fly past?”
“More than one thing. Let me get this straight, first: You can make a road through the Eastrange. One that doesn’t go through Vathula.”
“Sure. We could have it start in Baret, travel up through the mountains while sticking to the southern side of most of them, and have it come down in the plains on the eastern side, no problem. From there, it’s a short trip to Mochara, and then a pleasant canal ride up to Karvalen.”
Banler looked at me with a calculating expression. He tugged at his lower lip with thumb and forefinger, thinking.
“Let’s say you can. All right. You also mentioned making the mouth of the Caladar navigable?” He tried to sound casual, only curious. He didn’t quite manage.
“Well, sort of,” I began. “Ships would have to pass through water gates in your city, of course—you’ll probably want to charge them a fee for that—and constructing the ship lane will take up a lot of space alongside the existing river tunnel. But we could do it.”
I could see him doing the math in his head, or trying to. I think the numbers were rolling up higher than he could believe.
“You know,” he said, slowly, “my grandfather told me stories about his court wizard.”
“Jon was a good teacher,” I said. Banler made a pfft noise.
“You know who I mean.”
“Yeah, I probably do,” I admitted.
“If a magician from Arondael came to me with these ideas, I’d be skeptical. I’m sure he’d want something big in return.”
“And you’re wondering what I want?”
“I’d be a fool not to, and my father didn’t raise any.”
“Okay. How about this: Karvalen gets to use the road and the waterway without hindrance or fee. Anyone else you can charge whatever the market will bear, but anyone with a Royal Writ from Karvalen has an express ticket straight through, no questions, no problems, no argument. And, looking to the future and all its possibilities, I’ll even go so far as to say that if—if, I say; I understand there are some wars going on over on your side of the mountains—if Baret ever winds up as part of the Kingdom of Karvalen, that guarantee of passage will do for its yearly tribute or taxes or whatever it’s called.”
I was a little worried about that last part. I wasn’t certain how he’d take the notion that his Princedom might someday be part of a kingdom. It would mean a demotion for him, busted from prince down to lesser noble—duke, count, baron… something.
He didn’t take it badly. He just continued to tug on his lower lip and look thoughtful.
“If you build such a road,” he said, slowly, “you would need to safeguard this end of it.”
“Not necessarily. I’ll be happy to leave that to you.”
“That’s not what I meant, but I thank you for your confidence.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. Say that I agree to all of this. How long will it take to make this road and ship lane?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “It could be weeks.”
“Weeks!?”
“Best guess,” I told him. “The road, first; I’m not sure about the shipping lane. I’d have to look it over and I’ve got other irons in the fire. Best I can do.”
He leaned back in his chair, looking at me strangely. I waited.
“I find myself torn,” he said. “I want to not believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think it’s possible.”
“So don’t believe me.”
“The trouble is…” he began, and paused. “I think I do believe you. I think you can do what you say.”
“I know I think I can. I also know I could be wrong. But I believe what I’m saying, if that’s any help.”
“Maybe. But the fact that you believe you can do it is impressive enough.” He sat up straighter. “Very well. I’ll find someone else to send to Mochara. I also accept your offer of a road along the southern reaches of the Eastrange, and a ship lane from the sea to the river. I agree to your proposals.”
“Excellent! I’ll get started on that stuff, probably the road first. That’ll make the shipping lane easier. You might want to look over the districts alongside the waterway in advance, though, and see which side would be preferable for tearing down. It’ll eat up a lot of real estate, I’m afraid.”
“I will. But there is one other thing…”
“Name it.”
“Did Melvin explain what’s happening?”
“Not in any detail. I told him I wouldn’t be selling him any steel, however, if he was going to be a prick. Not my exact words, obviously, but you get the point. I’d be happy to sell you some steel, though. I get the impression you need weapons?”
“You could say that.”
“Would you be interested in some military aid?”
Banler nodded.
“Either that was a very shrewd guess, or you really are some sort of unholy fiend.”
“Jury’s out on that one,” I admitted. “It depends on who you ask, and if they’re on my bad side or not.”
“From what I hear, most people don’t stay on your bad side for long,” he said, seriously. “Let’s put this in practical terms. What will it cost me?”
“I’m tempted to say that you’d owe me a favor, but if I’m an unholy fiend, that’s a bad deal for you. How about we sign a formal all
iance between our realms, instead?”
“You’re no fiend,” he assured me. “I accept.”
“I’ll talk to my people. But how do you know I’m not a fiend?”
“A fiend,” he explained, “wouldn’t have considered how I feel about owing it a favor; it would have just held me over the barrel until I signed in blood.”
“Hmm. You have a point,” I admitted. “Can I get you to sign the treaty in blood?”
“No.”
“Well, so much for that notion. Looks like I’ll have to live with not being a fiend. So, road first, then shipping lane, then alliance?” I asked. He nodded.
“I’ll talk to my people,” he said. He looked at the mirror at his end with a perplexed expression. “How do I shut this thing off?”
That evening, after a brief stop in the bathroom for sunset, I explained the deal to my cabinet. They seemed to think it was a good deal, all things considered. Moreover, I made arrangements to have sets of mirrors made, each set as close to identical as possible, so we could enchant them; one set for Karvalen and Baret, another set for Karvalen and Mochara, and a third set for Mochara and Baret.
I’ve reinvented the telephone. Well… sort of.
Kelvin had questions about the road, though.
“Will not the people of the Eastrange have something to say about that?”
“Possibly. However, I plan to avoid any populated valleys and avoid digging any tunnels. With luck, they won’t even notice it’s there. There’s not a lot besides rock face, scattered trees, and, in some places, sea spray on the southern sides. If they do notice,” I shrugged. “I’m a Dark Lord of the Night, am I not?”
“Very true.”
“Do you think we need a canal up to the foot of the mountains? Or should it just be a road the whole way?”
“The journey to the mountains is not a long one,” Tort advised. “Mochara is slightly to the west of the capitol, so it is only an hour or two from Mochara to the Eastrange. At least, with a good horse.”
“I agree,” Kelvin said. Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar just shrugged; I don’t think they had ever been there.
“That’s settled, then. I’ll see about arranging a road that direction, tonight. Tort, how’s the wizards’ guild doing on the enchanted lights?”
“Fair,” she said, shrugging. “They are growing in skill only slowly, and they are easily exhausted by this labor.” She sounded almost disinterested. “Wizards are poor at both stamina and power, so it will be some time before they produce even simple enchantments in any quantity. Assuming they are all making the attempt.”
Yep, I decided, I’m sticking my nose in.
“Maybe I should have a word with Thomen about getting them some extra training. Come to that, where is Thomen? I’ve been thinking that you have enough to do without having to ride herd on the wizards, too.”
“I presume he is at home,” Tort said, dropping her eyes to the table. “I have not spoken with him in some time, though, so I do not know for certain.”
“Okay. Have someone invite him over tomorrow night for the next meeting, would you?”
“Of course, my angel.” I’ve heard her sound more enthusiastic.
“Excellent. Guys? How’s the magical training coming along?”
The three looked at each other and Seldar spoke.
“I would say that it goes well, Sire. We are all grown quite proficient at striking things afar… less so with blocking such.” He absently rubbed his shoulder. “I am, possibly, the quickest with a wizard’s parry, but it is no certain thing.”
“The Shield is much more to everyone’s liking,” Kelvin offered. “I have them practicing both, however, on the notion there will come a time when a Shield fails and one must block a magical attack. Does this meet with your approval, Sire?”
“It does,” I told him. “Yes, that’s a good thing. If we need to, I’m sure the wizards could use a hand in pumping energy into their enchantments. That should help build mystical muscle for anyone who seems to be a bit underdeveloped in that area.”
“Just as you say, Sire.”
With that, the cabinet disassembled, Tort went to bed and I made the rounds through Mochara; a few people were getting on toward their expiration date, but nobody seemed due to check out immediately. Good enough.
Bronze carried me to Karvalen. It’s a heck of a commute, in medieval terms, but not so much on a magical fire-breathing golem horse. I’ve spent more time on a one-way commute in a car. How far it is in actual distance terms is something I keep meaning to measure. If only Bronze had an odometer…
I was most of the way there when I saw a small party camped out in the southwest corner of the canals. They had a couple of rather fancy pavilion tents and were parked squarely in front of the lake-bridge to the city proper. We swung to the right to cross the southern canal. I wanted to circle the mountain and check on the city’s security. The people already living in Karvalen had the pivot-gate shut, so the city was probably not in the process of being invaded. Probably.
I partly recognized the banner, though. It had my device in the upper left, an orange diagonal stripe, and a hollow, silver circle on a black field in the lower right.
Zirafel’s heraldic references did not include these symbols. It did, however, supply me with the knowledge that a noble house was claiming descent from mine. Interesting.
While circling the mountain, Bronze took a walk in the lake to cool off. When she got down to a level where fire-breathing was no longer a requirement, we finished our circuit and went toward the encampment from the north. As we approached the canal bridge over the western canal, I put a light spell over my head. I didn’t intend to sneak up on them; I just wanted to talk to them and find out what they wanted.
I also made sure I had a deflection spell going. I’m not a complete idiot.
They were quite willing to come out and talk. Six of them appeared from inside their tents. They were all somewhat short and swathed head to toe in blackened mail and many shades of grey. They didn’t walk out of their tents so much as they flowed out, like blots of ink in water.
Elves. Strangely enough, I’ve never met a nice elf. All of the ones around here seem to be cruel, nasty, vicious, evil bastards. Either there are no nice elves, or they just don’t want to have anything to do with me. I really hope there are nice ones, somewhere; I would hate to think that only the bad guys have that much grace and style.
Bronze stopped about twenty feet away. They flowed into a kneeling position, hands crossed over their faces, palms out. If I had any idea about the significance of the gesture, it was buried somewhere as-yet unsorted.
The moment I saw elves, I expected to see Bob. It irked me that he wasn’t among them.
I sighed to myself and fired up a translation spell; I wasn’t sure if I knew their language or not, nor if they knew any of the languages I spoke. I was about to find out, but I wanted to be prepared.
“Rise. Which one of you is in command?”
They lowered their hands. Five of them shifted to one knee while their leader stood. She was the tallest of the lot, about five-foot-four, and removed her ornate helm to hold it in the crook of her elbow. Her hair reminded me of molten silver as it cascaded down in loose waves.
“This servant is the commander of these,” she said, in a clear, musical voice. Everything about her was amazingly, even disgustingly, beautiful. She was definitely not a human being; she was something else entirely. I was attracted and repelled at the same time. She was probably at the bottom of the uncanny valley. She was human enough to be beautiful, inhuman enough to be disturbing.
I didn’t need the translation spell to understand her. Answering in elf-language wasn’t something I wanted to try; I didn’t feel competent to speak the sixty-vowels-together thing. I could understand it and that was good enough. I decided to leave the spell running, just for the occasional concept-connections it provided.
“Who are you?” I asked. She told me. I waited until she
was done.
When Bob told me his real name, I thought it might have some cultural significance; I was right. The longer the name, the more the elf has done in its life. It’s kind of a synopsis of their deeds and serves as a reminder of who they used to be as well as who they are—presumably important in a race that stops aging when they reach adulthood. This one was very good at the harp, archery, swordplay, painting, raising poisonous snakes, flaying living victims without killing them, and was particularly expert at making enchanted leather from the skin thus obtained. There were other things, but the rest was a bit gruesome.
I could have coped quite well not knowing any of that.
“I don’t suppose you have a short, easy-to-use name when not being addressed formally?”
“Of course, Dread Lord. This one is known as Salishar.”
“Good. Why are you here?”
“Your servants have come to bear a message from the Dragonsword to its master.”
“Firebrand!” I exclaimed. “Where is it?”
She backed away a step and gestured briefly with the crossed-hand-over-eyes thing again. Apparently, my display of strong emotion made her nervous. I looked closely at the rich complexity of her elf-spirit and saw a lot of anxiety. Well, how many nightlords has she ever met? We’re legends, after all.
“It lives in your city, Vathula, and works with your servants to slay those who would resist an empire.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” I agreed. “Good, good. Is it happy?”
“This one believes so, Dread Lord.”
“Okay. So, what’s it got to say?”
“It bids me say that if you wish it so, it will be pleased to be reclaimed whenever you come for it.”
“Then why didn’t you just bring it?” I asked.
“It did not offer to be transported, lord, and this one would not dare attempt to bear it without leave.”
Good point. If Firebrand doesn’t want to be picked up, asbestos gloves won’t save you. It would take a full-coverage fire suit and fast reflexes to avoid being broiled.
On the other hand, Salishar’s anxiety level skyrocketed when she said it. Contemplating the idea of being incinerated might do that, but not to that degree. Her nervousness seemed odd and unusual.