by Garon Whited
“And?”
I’m in here like it’s my body. Feels like it, anyway. I’m not some free-roaming spirit that’s loosely connected to a bone.
“What’s your point?”
He didn’t know that. The more I think about it, the more I think he was trying to pull me out—I think he was trying to steal me right out from under your nose, Boss.
I almost pulled up and turned around. Almost. I fired off a couple of nasty words that might cause Rakhill’s ears to catch fire. Probably not; distance is a factor.
If I was sure he slept in a bed, I’d have sent someone under it.
“If he does anything like that again, let me know,” I told Firebrand. “I’ll backhand the ugly right off his face.”
That’s a lot of ugly, Boss.
“If his face comes with it, I won’t be sad. Hold it. Bronze? Did he do anything to you?”
Bronze chuffed flames and flicked an ear: If he tried, I didn’t even notice.
Either Rakhill was a very lucky man or smarter than he looked. My money is on lucky.
We stopped by the waterfall and I watched it in the last of the moonlight, roaring its way down into the canyon of the Averill. The river was wider where the waterfall foamed, almost forming a pool. I wouldn’t want to take a boat across it, though. I didn’t think going behind the waterfall was a viable option, either; too much tunneling or carving involved.
A bridge was the only good way across. Just a little farther downstream, where the wide water at the foot of the falls narrowed into a river, was a good spot. Rocky canyon walls, a fairly narrow span… it could probably be done in a single arch.
On the other hand, who says it needs to be an arch. How about a suspension bridge? We make steel cable. With some pylons, a lot of boards, and a crew on each side, we could probably put something up in a week. It would need more maintenance than a stone arch, of course, but it wouldn’t even require magical assistance.
I looked up at the top of the falls. It might be even easier to put a bridge across the top, but that would involve a lot of stairs or ramps cut into the mountainside, and I’ve been told that the ability to move livestock is important.
Right. A bridge. Well, now I know for certain what I need.
The more I think about it, the more I like a suspension bridge. It appeals to me, somehow. Maybe it’s the delicate look to them, or the clever way the forces are distributed. A suspension bridge would also give me a chance to see how fast we can produce steel cable and saw lumber. It can also vanish suddenly, if the need arises.
Then again, what would happen if we put a dozen permanent bridges over the Averill? Could we make the northern region just another province, rather than an isolated backwater full of barbarians? The people of the plains aren’t so bad; Karvalen gets along with them pretty well. I’ve seen maybe three different tribes in the vicinity of Mochara or Karvalen on trading visits. I haven’t seen anything that precludes the viksagi from getting along with other humans.
True, their customs and manner take a bit of getting used to—maybe it’s easier for professional diplomats; I have to remember to be nicer to them, because their job is tougher than I thought—but they’re not bad people. I can think of a dozen or more people I know, or knew, who wouldn’t mind living with them.
Anyway, it was time to head back to Karvalen. Without a bridge, that meant going the long way around. I considered trying to jump the Averill and asked Bronze what she thought. She shook her head—regretfully, it seemed to me. If we could have built a ramp, perhaps.
I wish we could have cleared it. I would have liked to ride through Byrne’s territory. A spy satellite’s view is one thing. Cruising past villages and towns, talking to the locals—that’s different.
We thundered west, stopping only to let the dawn overtake us.
Tuesday, July 20th
Crag Keep opened up the gate for me; Bronze carried me over the gap in the bridge again. Captain Dinuad held me up for a bit of conversation. He was nice enough to fail to mention anything about who I was, though. I appreciated that. And, since it was still early in the day, I let him persuade me to stay for lunch.
If it was a clever ploy to make me feel generous and agreeable, it worked. I wasn’t in all that much of a hurry; I could afford a couple of hours. Since they didn’t have a wizard on staff at the keep anymore, I played the part. There were a number of minor injuries and several old ones. What I didn’t fix I at least set up to fix itself over time.
I wanted a second waterwheel, some living stone, and a sawmill. The place really could be much nicer, but that would involve either a lot of people who knew what they were doing, or a lot of time.
Still, we helped out. Bronze helped clear a little more land by hauling some large rocks away. Firebrand helped with some tree stumps. I had to do the hitching for Bronze, of course, but Firebrand was much easier. I stuck it in a stump and left it there. It lit up, burned the tree stump to ash, and I recovered it from the hole.
I like my sword.
About midafternoon, though, I called it quits. I enjoy being helpful, doing my good deed, being thrifty, loyal, brave, clean, and some other stuff I don’t recall offhand, but we still had a long way to go.
Captain Dinuad and Lieutenant Leareth both thanked me and clasped wrists with me. If they had any aversion or misgivings about touching me, they hid it perfectly. Lacking any evidence of horrific monsterdom, they were choosing to ignore legends, gossip, and hearsay. I silently awarded them kudos for that and resolved to do something nice for them. Something more than a few healed injuries, moved rocks, and burned stumps, that is.
On the way home, instead of just heading due south, we headed east again until we hit the Quaen river. It diverted from the Averill, branching off southward through some low mountains or big, rocky hills. We followed it south, which let me look it over more closely. The northern portions weren’t entirely impassable; in some places, it was wide and slow enough that it might even be fordable, at least in the dry season. It picked up small streams and creeks, however, as it continued south.
Night fell by the time we reached Bildar. Bildar was a peculiar city, with some bases on either bank of the Quaen, but with the majority of the city placed on the bridge. Originally, it had started as a city with a bridge. Over time, it had grown onto the bridge, and the bridge was therefore widened. And more buildings were built on the widened bridge. So they widened it again. And so on.
At this point, Bildar was about a thousand souls or so—on either bank. The bridge, if one can call it that, was closer to ten or twelve thousand. It had three main thoroughfares wide enough to be a four-lane highway and a dozen smaller roads, while between the buildings were innumerable twisty little passages, all alike.
Still, the city was cleaner than you might think; drains were everywhere and gutters didn’t have far to go before dropping their burdens in the river. I’m sure people downriver didn’t appreciate Bildar turning the Quaen into a sewer, but what were they going to do?
The river was deep enough for some ships, rather than just boats. Bildar’s docks weren’t what I would call extensive, but they were still busy, even at night. Ships could pull up to the downstream side of the bridge and tie up there, but the bridge blocked passage for anything with a fixed mast. Smaller boats could row under it, effectively going through a tunnel under the main portion of the city. Bildar was a major trading center for this region and farther north. Bulk goods could cheaply sail up the river this far; after this, it was smaller lots, retail. Stuff could also barge down the river to Bildar, but almost had to stop there and to re-ship farther south.
The city was locked up, of course. I didn’t think it worthwhile to gain entry just to inspect the roadway.
We continued south, passing through or around various farming villages and towns. While there were a number of places one might land a ship, a ship was still a requirement, unless the troops could walk on water.
Yes, there’s a spell for that. Assuming
you have one wizard for every three soldiers, it might also practical. But I’m not sure I have one wizard for every three soldiers—that is, one wizard competent to cast the spell and proficient with it.
I need new words. Magicians are powerful and well-educated. Wizards are professional spellcasters, the blue-collar workers in the field of magic. Sorcerers are quasi-demon-possessed people who traded their soul for some sort of specific power. What should I call people who know some magic, but don’t do it professionally? Most of my citizens fall into that category!
Dabblers? Magicians, wizards, and dabblers?
Well… I guess it’ll do until I think of something better.
Formia was the only other major city on the Quaen. Again, we didn’t want to go through the place because they don’t seem very hospitable.
I wondered, though, about their bridges over the rivermouth. How did they allow ships through? Drawbridges? They would almost have to be, wouldn’t they? Mental note for something to look at with the sand table or a magic mirror.
We slugged through silt again, cleaned up, and hustled homeward. Sentries on the wall of Baret waved at the flaming thing going by in the night; I waved back. Then it was through the mountains, along the canal road, around Mochara, and up to Karvalen. And with time to spare before sunrise, no less.
My first order of business was making sure Bronze’s manger was loaded with coal. It was; it had filled up while we were gone. I left her to crunch her way through it and fetched back some metal bits.
That brief trip should have taken months. She’s a wonder.
Since I had some time before sunrise, I used it to have an actual conversation with the mountain. A brief one; I only had a couple of hours.
Yes, it had something for me regarding the bridge; it was in my study.
Yes, it was very pleased to have people living in the city.
Yes, my running-water project was moving right along.
Yes, it had started on growing the new building in Mochara. (I mentally scolded myself for not stopping to look while I was going by.)
No, it didn’t need anything—unless there was something else I wanted? I agreed that there was, told it about my desire for underground tunnels for drainage and the like, as well as proper streets for Mochara. It assured me that wasn’t a problem.
I thanked it and returned to normal speed for the sunrise.
Wednesday, July 21st
A message from Kavel was already waiting for me when I reached my chambers. I read it, had my waterfall, and went down to the forges.
“How’s it going?” I asked, over the sound of hammering. Kavel wiped his face and beckoned me over to a large, vertical mold.
“We finished the pour yesterday,” he said. “That was tricky. The forge won’t hold enough steel to do it all in one go, so we had to get help from the wizards.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, Majesty. They did that thing you did on the forge on the mold.”
It took me a second to parse that.
“They did a heat-containment spell on the mold?”
“Yes, Majesty. One of them even kept casting hot spells on the metal to keep it melted.”
“And you melted and poured a fresh batch of steel?”
“Twice. But we got it topped off yesterday and they wanted to drop the spells. I wouldn’t let them,” he said, sheepishly.
“Why not?”
“The mold is stone, Majesty. If they’d just dropped the things, it’d have cracked and we’d have a steel floor in here. I made them heat up the mold while they started undoing the thing that kept the metal hot.” He looked at the floor. “I may have yelled at Thomen a bit.”
“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Kavel reddened.
“I might have also called him some things, Majesty.”
“Oh. All right, I’ll see if he’s upset. If he is, maybe I can get you off his fecal roster.”
“Majesty?”
“I’ll try and smooth it over.”
“Thank you, Majesty.”
I walked around the stone mold. It was a big, hollow cylinder, about eight feet high, with a center of solid steel. It was still hot to the touch, despite the airflow through the smithy room. Well, that was all right. I indicated to the mountain that this large block of stone could go away and leave behind the steel pillar. In a few hours, it could start cooling without an insulating blanket of rock around it. Then we could put it on the rollers and start drilling out a bore.
I still needed to work out a way to stop cannonballs. You train knights, you armor them, you arm them, and some jerk with a popgun blows them out of the saddle. It’s just not fair. But there were so many things that needed doing, and doing soon.
Okay, I’m a king. I can delegate. Some, at least. People can make mirrors for me; it looked as though I would need even more of them. I can also tell people to call the southern cities that already have mirrors and discuss things. We were still growing armor on people, but we were almost done; soon, I would get my own suit. I could probably delegate someone to build a bridge across the Averill—I should really check on what the mountain made for me. Later, later. I would have to handle the talk with the sea-dwellers myself, of course, to make sure that our sewage disposal wasn’t dumping in their living rooms. I also have to develop a spell to counter cannonballs—one that didn’t rely on brute force opposing brute force.
At least I could start on that last one, because I already had an idea: a transfer of momentum.
But first, to set things in motion, I attended my breakfast meeting with everyone.
“Busy day for me,” I started, without sitting down. “I’ll be in my workroom for a while, countering Byrne’s big weapons. Meanwhile, I would like a few things to happen. More of the twinned mirrors; someone please buy some more. We may be needing them. Also, find someone diplomatic and tactful and persuasive—Minaren, maybe; Tyma’s tongue is a bit sharp—and have him call up the cities we already talk to. I suspect I know what Byrne will be doing, soon.”
“Sire?” Kelvin asked.
“Yes?”
“What will Byrne be doing?”
“Oh. I think they’ll push southward, using the Quaen to secure their western border. Once they have everything between the Quaen and the Eastrange under their control, they’ll conquer their way along the coast. Then they’ll work their way north along the western bank of the Quaen. If any of the Rethven princes want to stop them, we’ll be happy to help. If they want to sit quietly and allow Byrne to trample them, they’re welcome to roll over. But we’re hoping to get a coalition together to fight them.”
“Thank you, Sire. That’s part of your message for Minaren to relay to the Princes?”
“I suppose it is, yes.”
“I shall speak to Minaren, then.”
“Thanks.”
“I beg your pardon, Master of Diplomats,” Seldar added, “but what about the viksagi?”
“They’re not really a bunch of bad people. They just want what everybody wants—good food, good drink, all that stuff. They just live in a rather inhospitable region and don’t always have enough of those things, so they cross the Averill now and again to take what they need. I’ve told them about the new bridge I’m putting in, so they’ll use it. It’s just a question of when. They’re less organized than the princes.”
“I see. So, no formal help from them, Sire?”
“Nope. But it’s still worth doing. Which reminds me—has anyone managed to find any of Byrne’s bronze rams?”
Heads shook all around the table.
“I believe,” Thomen told me, “that they have some magic shielding them. Until we find their location, we can’t begin to break it down.”
“And rain is wet,” T’yl noted, sneering at the wizard. Tort shot him a warning look.
“What I further believe,” Thomen continued, locking eyes with T’yl, “is that their magical shielding is clouding the vision of even scrying spells. They are not invisible, not truly so, but
whatever we see in our mirrors or bowls has their presence removed. Hence, despite so many scryers searching, we have yet to see even one of these things.”
“Can you do that?” I asked. “Make something invisible to a scrying spell?”
“I can’t,” Thomen admitted, “but it should be possible.” T’yl looked openly disdainful. Tort merely nodded, looking thoughtful.
“Okay. Tell you what; keep people looking, but see if you can figure out how it’s done. Tort, will you help, please? If we can figure out ways to do it, maybe we can find ways to undo it.”
“Of course, my angel.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“By the way, Thomen. Kavel sends his regards and his sincere thanks for the wizards’ effort in making that metal pillar. He tells me that your work was vital to success, so I want to thank you. I’ve seen the thing, and I think I understand how much it took to make it happen. Good work, Thomen. Please convey Kavel’s—and my—congratulations to your Guild.”
Thomen blushed. I’m not sure he was used to praise and thanks. Being in charge of a guild of wizards was probably more a case of dealing with disasters and complaints than anything else.
“Sire,” Torvil said. “We also have, ah… some of the people of the plains want to talk to you.”
“Did they say why?”
“No, Sire.”
“Did they say it was urgent?”
“No, Sire.”
“What did they say?”
“That they wished to speak to the nekelae.”
“Where are they?”
“Camped on the northwest. Looks like a whole clan or tribe or whatever.”
“Offer them our hospitality.”
“We did, Sire. They declined to come into… into the ‘walking ghost mountain’.”
Well, when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound unreasonable, I thought.
I agree, said Firebrand.
That settles it; if you think it’s reasonable, it’s got to be exceptionally reasonable. You’re highly resistant to reason.