by Garon Whited
“The old magician and the Master of the Guild?” he asked.
“Did you have someone else in mind?”
“No, Your Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty!”
“I owe you that much, at least,” I told him. “You’ve been one of the most helpful and dedicated people in Karvalen, and I appreciate it. If you need anything else—anything at all—you come directly to me. Got that?”
“Yes, my King,” he said, and did that fist-on-floor thing. I restrained my annoyance. Instead of ordering him up, I just clapped him on the shoulder and left. It seemed simplest.
We strolled up, found Thomen, and told him about it. He seemed quite willing to teach the apprentice smiths; I think he likes teaching. He didn’t seem so pleased about T’yl, though.
“The magician,” he said, “will just have them memorize spells, not learn to use their talents.”
“How do you mean?”
“Their father sings to the metal as he works. If they have learned to do so, then we should expand on that method, rather than force them to learn the ‘right way’ of a magician.”
“You’re right,” I said, realizing he was. “I’m so used to the way I assemble spells, I forget there are other ways.”
“Too much magician in your diet, Your Majesty,” Thomen suggested, almost playfully. “Some people sing their magic into spells that only last for a song; others dance until their will is done. A few draw pictures that either change the subject, or foretell the future.” He shrugged. “Most of these can only do one or two things—a talent for some effect, rather than true spells, and easily mistaken for sorcery. Many of them can learn spells, though. We can see if Kavel and his sons are such.”
“No, I think you’ve got the right idea,” I told him, because it appealed to the teacher in me. “Whatever their strengths are, help them develop them. If they want to study magic, that’s fine; if they want to find new songs to sing to the metal, that’s fine, too.”
“As you say, Sire.”
After some testing with my new hammer-storage-spell, I think I’ve got it down to a final version. A year from now, T’yl will probably have it squared away into a super-efficient application, but while mine is brutal and solid, it’s also effective.
I got out the chalk and did a lot of careful scribbling on the floor, going around each arrowhead several times. I even did the chanting and the handwaving. My objective was to build a storage medium inside the metal. The forces directed into the arrowheads would be shunted into the metal and contained there, balanced against each other. Later, when I wanted those forces released, they would be shifted out of alignment and allowed to run unhindered—just as if all the hammerblows were to hit at once, from all directions, starting at the inside and headed outward.
I have no way of measuring the power it can contain, but I can certainly test it. A quartet of knights with sledgehammers, all working in unison, can beat out a rhythm that sounds a lot like Bronze at a fast walk.
Bronze could have stomped on it repeatedly, but not as rapidly. I suppose she could just hold it between her teeth and clamp down on it, but there’s a real risk she might eat it. It’s like asking a regular horse just to chew the sugar cube. Metal scraps are treats to her.
After making sure they understood to stop hammering each one when it started glowing, we checked in on Torvil. He was completely encased in a black substance and more layers were visibly forming.
“Comfy?” I asked.
“Not at all, Sire,” he informed me. “I don’t like the way this feels.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t hurt. It’s just… really strange. It’s… it’s growing on me, Sire.”
“It’s supposed to do that. The spells are fitting a suit of armor to you, exactly—tailor-made for you and you alone.”
“I understand that. It still feels strange.”
“If it’s any comfort, it’s moving along pretty quickly. I think it’ll be done by morning.”
“Morning?” he yelped.
“Yep.”
“I hate to bring this up, Sire, but I’m going to need the privy before then.”
I kicked myself, mentally, for forgetting. Biology.
“You raise a good point,” I told him. “Now?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Let me check on the suit’s progress.”
It took a few minutes of examination and testing, but, yes, it seemed strong enough to endure a pause in the process and the attendant manipulations for a toilet break. Torvil moved carefully, but, sadly, still cracked a thigh plate when he sat down. Fortunately, running a spell to repair it was both fast and simple. We had him back down and in the process again in no time.
“Well, I’m off to Mochara,” I told them. “Got to see a man about a weapon.”
“Sire?” Seldar said. “Do you plan to bring me?”
Bodyguard problems.
“Sire?” he asked. I realized I was staring at him while thinking about what to do with him.
“I don’t think so,” I said, finally. “No, I want you here, helping Malana and Malena.”
“In what way, King of Vagueness?” he asked. The twins looked interested, as well.
“I’m not fully convinced that they’re fully recovered,” I lied. “I want you to make sure their bodies are working at healing, and I want you to work them both over with your physical enhancement spells. I also want you to keep an eye on Kammen.”
“Me?” Kammen asked, surprised.
“Yes. If you’ll allow it, I want to try a low-powered version of the spell that helped make Malana and Malena so fast.”
“Hey!” Torvil said, from the floor. “I wanted in on that!”
“You can’t get up and fight with them,” I countered. “Lie there and be protected, will you?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“So,” I continued, “Kammen starts getting faster, the twins get stronger, Torvil gets armored, and Seldar gets more practice. I also want you to pay attention to the spell on Kammen; if it doesn’t send him into twitching convulsions, you may be using it on everybody, Seldar.”
“A wizard-knight’s work is never done, Sire,” he said, cheerfully. Then he sobered. “I am still not pleased with the idea of you being unprotected.”
“I’ll have Bronze with me at all times, and I’m in my armor,” I pointed out.
“That’s why I’m considering it, Lord of Targets.”
“That one hits kind of close to home,” I pointed out.
“Then it is correct?” he countered, smiling. I had to agree he got me.
“I can pick up Tianna while I’m in Mochara,” I went on. “She’ll help protect me.” Seldar nodded, slowly.
“Yes… that might do. Very well. You may go, Sire.”
Is that irony? It’s certainly a sense of humor. I’m very pleased.
I made it to Mochara well before the evening meal. Amber was not against Tianna escorting me around town, and Tianna, of course, was delighted to hold on to Bronze’s ears.
While I visited Flim, Bronze paced around the large, open area, keeping Tianna’s hair rippling in the breeze. Jessa wanted to cook something special for dinner, since the King and the littlest Princess were visiting; I didn’t really want to stay for dinner, but she seemed so earnest about it, how could I refuse? Besides, Reth was watching Tianna and Bronze. Tianna persuaded Bronze to stop and let Reth ride, too. Tianna had to help him up by hanging over one side while Bronze held her ankles with loops of wire mane. When that didn’t quite manage it, Bronze cocked a foreleg for use as a step and boosted Reth. Eventually, they were both aboard and parading around.
My horse is a nice person. I could probably learn a lot from her.
Flim had worked diligently on his assignment. He understood many of the practical details of extra-large crossbows, now, and was amazed at how strong a wire cable could be.
“I think I’m about ready to build something more siege-engine-sized,” he said. “W
ith both wood and metal layers, I think we can get something about the size of a cart to throw a bolt farther than anything I’ve ever seen on a ship.” He indicated some drawings on a wax tablet; I made a note to get him some paper and to reinvent the pencil.
The drawings looked good, though. Flim really did have an inventive mind. The only thing I changed was part of the “bowstring.” Instead of one long cable, I drew in two shorter ones. Each connected one end of the lever arm to a metal block that ran down the launching channel. This saved wear on the center of the cable and reduced the likelihood of it snapping and whipping. The block also acted as a good anchor point for winching it back to a ready position, as well as a good pushing face for launching projectiles. I gave him the basics and he promised to work it out.
“You can get busy on that later, though,” I told him. “Right now, I have a priority project for you.”
“Anything you want… um?”
“‘Sire’ will be fine,” I sighed. “Right now, though, I want a bow. Make it about six feet long.”
“A bow?” he asked, puzzled. “That’s all?”
“A bow meant for me,” I clarified.
“So… fancy?” he asked, still not getting it. I told him to wait a moment and I hunted up an old length of chain. I held it in my hands as though it were an arrow, then pulled. The links slowly stretched as I exerted myself; I stopped before any of them actually snapped.
“Make it strong,” I said. “Make it impossible to pull. That should be about right.”
Flim’s eyes gleamed. He was looking forward to the challenge.
I called Tianna and Reth in when Jessa announced dinner and we all sat down around the family table. Two of the chairs looked very new, as did all of the plates. Flim’s family was a trifle more prosperous, these days. Well, government contracts for weapon R&D is a profitable line of work.
Tianna and Reth sat next to each other and kept talking, mostly quietly, while Flim, Zaren, and I discussed spring steel and cable. Jessa was proud to serve dinner, and I did my absolute best to make appreciative noises over every dish.
It would have broken her heart to discover that I couldn’t stand her specialties. Which wasn’t the case; I could stand them. I just hated the way they set fire to my tongue. She liked her spicy dishes. But I substituted “Mmm!” for “Ack!” and swallowed anyway.
Tianna and I said our goodbyes; Reth, apparently, was invited to the House of the Flame, sometime. I made a mental note to make sure Tianna’s skyrocket spell was in good working order, then took care of it as soon as we were at the temple.
While she was sitting in a magic circle and I was scribbling around her, she asked about it.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you sometimes draw stuff?”
“It’s part of the spellcasting process, sweetie.”
“But you don’t always do that,” she pointed out.
“That’s true. Sometimes I just picture the symbols and lines in my mind. That’s when I’m in a hurry, though. It takes a lot more effort to do it that way, but it’s a lot faster, too. This way, drawing it out like this, is slower, but it doesn’t take as much effort.”
I continued for a bit longer while she thought that over.
“So, you put little bits of power into each symbol, instead of a big lot of power into the whole thing?”
I paused and looked at her. She looked back, still with that curious look on her face.
“That’s exactly right,” I told her. “You’re ever so smart. Very good!” She fairly beamed with pride and I went back to scribbling.
“After I learn division, will you teach me how to draw magic symbols?”
“If your mother says it’s okay,” I answered, automatically.
Has there ever been a wizard fire-witch? I thought about it, but not even the whole library of Zirafel knowledge turned up a single instance.
This could get interesting, I reflected.
I finished reinforcing Tianna’s skyrocket safety spell; it would act as a safety net for weeks, now—or until it was needed. She would burn through it in a matter of seconds if she tried, but that might give her a chance to throttle back, or give everyone else a chance to take cover.
After sunset and my usual cleanup, I tucked Tianna in with the story about how Arthur pulled Excalibur from the stone, then had to answer some very practical questions, such as how a sword knew who the rightful king was. Even if it could talk, like Firebrand, how would it know? I think I got through it without sounding too stupid, but I could be wrong.
Amber and I had a brief discussion about immigrants again; more maimed individuals kept showing up. I told her to let them accumulate; we could handle them in batches every week or so. We also talked about Reth and his potential visit. Amber didn’t seem against it as long as Tianna’s safety spell was still on.
“I’m not sure she needs it,” I admitted. “She’s never shown even a hint of temper.”
“Just the same, it is not safe,” Amber assured me. “If she does, the consequences will be dire.”
“I can’t argue with that. But she’s such a delightful little girl, it’s hard to think of her frying someone even by accident.”
“You’re prejudiced—Grandpa,” she said, smiling.
“Maybe.”
We parted with a hug; I was very pleased. I think my daughter has learned to like me. That’s so good for my morale that I don’t know what to say.
Bronze and I headed west.
Velina watched with considerable interest as I started telling people’s bodies to start growing their missing bits. I took the time to show her some of the details and help her with the fine points on the various spells involved. In theory, she can cast the spells, but I’ll admit the process is a moderately complicated one. Neither of us feels comfortable with her trying it just yet.
I suppose I could refine it down to a single sequence of spell symbols—automate the process, if you like—but it would be a long and arduous process to work the whole thing. Maybe I could put the whole thing on a scroll, like a recipe to follow.
There’s a thought. If I drew or carved the spells on the floor, could we put someone in a chair, empower the thing, symbol by symbol, line by line? I think that might work. Well, the spells might actually cast, but it wouldn’t work for this particular application. The spells vary considerably, depending on the area to copy and the place to graft it on. Too many variables for it to be a rote casting; the wizard actually has to know what she’s doing.
Still, I could effectively automate a large portion of the process by having a “leg copying” spell, an “arm copying” spell, an “eye copying” spell, and so on… they wouldn’t be versatile, but if you can restore a lost leg, arm, or eye, that would cut down on a lot on the workload.
Speaking of copying and grafting, I’ve run into a problem. My process to restore Tort’s foot—and every other missing bit I’ve encountered—involved copying the intact version, reversing it, and tacking the matrix onto the missing part. This works fine for missing or deformed limbs and other body parts that are replicated on the left and right sides of the body.
One of the patients is missing both legs at the knee. I haven’t got anything to copy!
This is a nontrivial problem.
Now, for Minaren, I copied my own corneas to replace the cloudy ones he had. I was moderately comfortable with that, mainly because I’m pretty sure they’re just organic lenses. If I remember correctly surgeons even replaced corneas with artificial ones, sort of built-in contact lenses. So, nothing major there.
I’m not comfortable with copying other bits of me, using my own body as a pattern for people to regrow lost parts. My muscle and bone are decidedly unnatural; I’m not sure if humans can grow those bits, and I’m even less sure if they’ll have side effects.
I fixed everyone I could—well, got them started—then Velina and I took Grigor, the guy with shortened legs, aside. He sat on a plank with wooden w
heels; he pushed it along, slowly, with his hands. I explained the problem to him.
“So, you see that we can’t just hit you with the spell and move on,” I finished. He nodded miserably. “However,” I went on, “I have an idea. It hasn’t been tried, so it might not work. There’s also an outside chance that it might actually be harmful. But I think it likely to work, and if it does, you can grow working legs.”
“If you’re waiting for me to beg,” he said, calmly, “just say the word, my lord.”
“No, I just wanted you to know what you’re getting into. I’ll try it, if you want, but you should know that it’s untested.”
“I’ve been shortened for eleven years,” he told me. “If there’s a chance I can get legs, I’ll do it.”
“Nothing to lose, is that it?” I asked, quietly.
“Nothing I care about,” he answered, just as quietly. I had already noticed his hands were wrapped in rags. They were also bloody, presumably from pushing himself along. I wondered where he came from and how he got this far. I stopped wondering about how far he would go.
“All right. We’ll need to take some measurements,” I told him. Velina fetched me some string and I did some calculations. Eventually, I tied two knots in the string to mark the length. I was confident we had a close measurement of the length of Grigor’s legs when he was whole.
Velina woke up a lot of the Prince’s soldiers and we started taking their measurements. They didn’t seem pleased about it, but they kept it to themselves. I don’t know if that was because of me, a visiting king, or me, a visiting nightlord, or me, a visitor in the Prince’s good graces, or Velina, the Prince’s wizard.
I suspect it was Velina. I’m not sure any of them recognized me. Her, they knew—and treated her with deference, respect, and possibly more than a little fear. Well, wizards can be scary people. It made me wonder how the rest of Rethven thought of Karvalen as a whole. A kingdom of wizards must be rather frightening.
We found a couple of suitably long-legged individuals, then narrowed down our choice by measuring thigh-to-shin ratios, hip circumference, and the like. The man with the best fit was simply drafted; Velina apparently had the authority—or just the clout—to do that.