Wizard (The Key to Magic)

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  He also needed the legate to find out which event or events had set Quaestor Eishtren on a path of self-destruction. Of the few that had escaped the fall of Mhajhkaei with the officer, the former fugleman had seemed to know Eishtren best.

  "It is not your duty to save everyone who falls in battle."

  "But I can save the ones that I must have."

  "Death will always find them again."

  "I don't doubt that. Have you decided to be the voice of my conscience?"

  "Someone must be. Wizards are famous for having a tendency to begin to believe in their own omnipotence."

  "I'll try my best to avoid that. Where are Phehlahm and Sihmal?"

  "To give them something to do, I sent them up to the barracks level to find bedding. Wizards may not have to sleep, but medics do. And medics have to eat, by the way. You mentioned regular meals this morning?"

  Mar frowned. "What time is it for you?"

  "Diner time at the very least."

  "Sorry, I'll fetch something right away. What would you like?"

  "Anything that does not have horse meat or mare's milk in it."

  Laughing, Mar stepped into undertime.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  143rd Year of the Reign of the City

  Fifthday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire

  Mhajhkaei

  Rhavaelei woke in Ghorn's bed and luxuriated for an unabashedly indolent moment in the feel of the fine sheets and coverlets on her scrubbed skin. For the first time in uncounted days, she felt normal.

  The nightmare of her imprisonment had not left her, but it certainly had begun to fade.

  After being rushed from the cell to a surgeon that had stitched her hand, she had been given only a few moments for a bath in water as hot as she could stand before being presented in a simple but warm bathrobe before a summoned clerk to swear the marriage oaths while a scribe hastily completed the marriage declaration and registration.

  Her new husband's lovemaking had been ardent, considerate, and proficient and he had left her at daybreak with no professions of adoration or promises of devotion. Due to leave on a skyship this very day, she did not expect to see him again for some time.

  She took her left hand from beneath the coverlet and held it up to the light coming through the bay windows to admire the simple gold band that had made her Lady Rhavaelei nhi' Burgh ez' Ghorn of the Princely House of Mhren. While the ring did not make her heir to the throne of the Princedom, it did make her the wife of the cousin who was.

  Though the Mhajhkaeirii now had a king, the city and its lands were still officially under the suzerainty of the child Prince, wherever he might be, and she was closer to the rule of the city than any of her machinations and plots had ever brought her.

  She tossed back the coverlet and placed her hands on her belly. Her cycle was in the appropriate stage. With any luck, Ghorn had also left her with child. She might never sit upon the throne, but her daughter could.

  She was content with that. Her exile would take her far from the city for now, but one day she would return. If Ghorn survived his battles, then in time he would summon her back. She was certain of that. He loved her not with the soon exhausted flame of passion or the fleeting yearning of emotion but with the eternal force of irrevocable choice. If he did not live through this war, then it should not prove difficult to convince the King or the Prince that her daughter, the child of the hero, would require education in The Greatest City in All the World, not some backwards rural province.

  Letting her eyes close, she indulged her imagination as it traipsed through glorious possibilities and enticing eventualities.

  "You are indeed with child, but it will be a son that you bear to Ghorn, not the daughter that you imagine."

  Reacting to the sound of the unexpected and strange voice rather than the words, Rhavaelei sat up and snatched the coverlet up to her neck as she stared at the older, bizarrely dressed man who stood just off the foot of her bed.

  "You should announce yourself before you enter," she said in cold rebuff. "I will inform my husband of this improper behavior. You will be reprimanded."

  "I am not one of your guards, Lady Rhavaelei, as you can plainly see."

  Rhavaelei thought to shout for the armsmen that she knew were just without the doors, but did not. "Then who are you and why have you come into my room?"

  "I am the Wizard Zso and I have come to speak to you about your future."

  She did not show the fear that she instantly felt. "You are a sorcerer?"

  "No, a wizard. I am a master of time and space. I can go to any place and to any moment that I wish. My magic gives me the opportunity to peruse the outcome of events -- in your case your future."

  She took a moment to think and decided that this story was no more outlandish than any of the other magic that she had seen.

  "Tell me of this future."

  "You have two possible futures. The one that you actually experience depends upon the choice that you make."

  "Explain."

  Zso smiled. "Gladly. You will leave this evening on the sailed skyship -- charming term that -- Eagle for Pamplyea. At first, the Eagle will make good speed, but just before midnight, the winds will turn contrary, forcing Captain Harkryn to tack against a strong headwind, so that the skyship will not make Elboern, where it must put off cargo and a file of newly trained legionnaires for the garrison, until the early morning of Seventhday. After unloading, the Eagle will depart without incident for the Monolith. Having been given no orders to make your transport to Pamplyea a priority, the captain will choose to complete his regular run and defer the detour until the return leg. With favorable winds, the Eagle will make the Monolith just after dawn on Eighthday. A snapped spar will compel another delay for repairs, so that the skyship will not depart for Pamplyea until Ninthday and thus still be airborne on the morning of Tenthday when a tremendous magical eruption far to the east sends a shock wave through the ether. That shockwave will spawn a localized vortex in the path of the skyship that will disrupt its spells and cause it to fall to the earth. All aboard will perish."

  "And my alternative?"

  "Were you to feign illness -- some herbs of a purgative nature might be of assistance in that endeavor -- from the start of the voyage, continue to exhibit increasingly severe symptoms until the Eagle reaches the Monolith, and there become completely incapacitated, Captain Harkryn would be compelled to delay his departure and the Eagle would avoid its fated intersection with the vortex."

  Rhavaelei eyed the man with unconcealed suspicion. "What benefit do you gain from providing this warning?"

  "At a point in the very near future, your husband will be given the option of taking the throne of the Empire. Without your encouragement, he would decline to do so. I prefer that he does."

  "He would never raise rebellion against the king." The Blood Oath made her certain of that.

  "It will not be rebellion. Mar will be the one that presents him with the option."

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Season of the Fulfillment of Dreams

  Camp of the People

  Threshold of the World Beyond

  The One Who Sees rolled from the furs of his sleeping mat and gestured for the heated cup of fermented mare's milk that his eldest daughter, Cheml'hanl, had prepared for him. Destiny had chosen Cheml'hanl to become The One Who Sees upon his death and it was often she who attended him when he woke, so that she would be able to hear and commit to a song the words of his dreams before they might have a chance to fade.

  "P'sn'ghis'thoa has changed the dreams. He has become the Dream Changer, N'whahl'szon."

  "How will this affect our people?"

  "In time, he will heal the Great Waste and restore the land of our ancestors to us."

  "And for now?"

  "The World Beyond will shake with the battles between N'whal'szon and his enemies, the People of the Sky, the S'pli'nosn'dnt."

  "What shall we do?"

  "W
e shall go into the Great Waste, following the waters that are always cold and hide beneath the mountain of ice. N'whahl'szon will welcome us there."

  "The Dream Changer is there?"

  "He will be when we need him. N'whahl'szon has learned to be in two places at once."

  THIRTY-NINE

  Mar had not worked out how he would supply the bunker, but he knew that he could not acquire sustenance for the medic and the armsmen from any location where he might be recognized. Given that he must err on the side of caution, he felt it necessary to exclude all of the civilized regions of the northern continent and much of the Bronze Archipelago. No one in the tribal territories west of Gealollh, the reputedly wild lands of the Western Shore, or remote and under-populated Bhrisnia would know him, but as he knew nothing of any practicality of any of these areas, venturing west would no doubt require a greater investment of time than he had a desire to make.

  That left the remainder of the known world -- the southern part of the Archipelago, the string of islands that led down to Szillarn, and the great southern continent itself. By all accounts, Aehrfhaen and much of Szillarn were civilized enough to offer the convenience of taverns and prepared meals, but the people spoke languages other than Imperial Standard. According to the eighth century geographer Fynthwaeld, fluency in the tongue of the Empire decreased in proportion to the distance one went south of Gh'emhoa.

  The thought of the island of Telriy's birth and Waleck's sojourn summoned a brief vision. For a few moments, he watched as Telriy, travel-stained and bearing a staff, entered an a well appointed inn, sat to eat, and eventually spoke with an old man who took her down to the dock and put her on a small boat that sailed with the tide.

  Mar let several days slide by, then stepped from undertime into the mid-afternoon in the shelter of a wood behind the inn's stables. He thought first about going to the kitchens at the rear, but, after considering the patriarch's stolen finery that he wore, decided that it would seem odd if he bargained with the cooks as a vagabond might. Though he made hardly any sound when he entered the common room, the eldest of three chatting women in serving aprons spun about as soon as he crossed the threshold.

  “Gods blessing on your day ... my lord! I'm sorry, I didn't hear your carriage or I would've met you at the door. Girls, a tablecloth and silverware for our guest!"

  She beckoned for him to take a seat at one of the smaller tables as the maids dashed away.

  Her smile broadened as her eyes estimated the cost of his attire. "Would you have something to eat? Supper isn't quite ready, but there is some of diner left. It's a delicious vegetable stew with a hearty broth! We've Aehrfhaenii ale and Mhevyrii wine, if you'd care to quench your thirst while you wait.”

  The woman was the same one that he had seen serve Telriy. As he had expected at this time of day, the common room was otherwise empty.

  He walked to the table but remained standing. "I'd like a meal prepared."

  "Certainly, my lord. Supper will be off the stove in an hour. It's chicken and dumplings with --"

  "I want the meal prepared tomorrow at this exact time. It should feed four men. Stew with beef, not venison, and ale and fresh bread. I want all of it in covered pots suitable to be carried. I also want four bowls, four spoons, and four mugs in a hamper." He dropped a thalar onto the table.

  She gave the gold coin an odd look but did not pick it up. "That's Mhajhkaeirii'n."

  "It's solid money."

  "Aye, my lord, I meant no offence. It's just that a few days ago -- well, that's another tale that I'm sure you'd have no interest in." She swept up the coin and dropped it into a pocket of her apron. "You'll send your carriage for the meal, my lord?"

  "I'll come for it."

  "It will be ready, my lord."

  He gave her a nod in farewell, left the inn, walked down a quiet street, turned a corner, and stepped into tomorrow.

  The woman, wearing a different dress and a clean apron, had the meal waiting exactly as he had specified.

  "Gods blessings on you, my lord!" She threw her eyes to the spring wound clock sitting in a corner. "You're prompt to the very minute. Will you need help carrying it? I can send a lad with you."

  "I'll manage."

  "Will you be returning the pots, my lord?"

  "No." He dropped another thalar on the table and gathered everything up.

  After Llylquaendt tasted the stew and pronounced it palatable, Mar straightaway returned to the inn one day after he had picked up the meal.

  The woman wore yet another dress and a different clean apron and seemed surprised but happy to see him.

  "Welcome back, my lord! I trust you found the meal suitable?"

  "Yes. What are you having for supper?"

  "Squash, yams, green beans, and lamb chops."

  He placed a stack of ten thalars on the table. "I want that for five. Have it waiting at the kitchen door at dusk. I also want you to prepare a meal for five and possibly more every day at this time until I tell you differently."

  "Certainly my lord. I must mention, though, that replacing pots and flatware can become expensive in a town as small as this."

  He took the stolen purse from an inner pocket of his jacket and emptied out another hundred thalars of a mine owner's money onto the tabletop. As the woman goggled at the shinny yellow pile, he left and went to dusk.

  When he returned supper to the bunker, he found the lower cavern vacant and climbed the ramps to the barracks level above. Llylquaendt was napping on one of the bunks while Truhsg, Phehlahm, and Sihmal were going through shortsword drills with lengths of metal tubing. They had cleared a practice quadrangle by dismantling and stacking bunks at the back of the long room.

  The marine from Klore and the cutpurse from Khalar stood sweating side by side while the legate looked on, gesturing with his own length of tubing.

  "Point up, Sihmal. You want the sword to go into the enemy's chest, not swat his leg. Again! Guard! Block! Sweep! Thrust! Again!"

  Sihmal's movements were weak and awkward, but energetic. As Mar approached, the drifting aroma of the food that he carried evidently caused the petty thief to turn his head in interest.

  "Eyes front, Trainee! Ceannaire Phehlahm, take up the count."

  Truhsg turned about and saluted. "With your permission, my lord king, I would like to complete the full hour of the exercise before we eat."

  Mar nodded and the legate turned back about. "By all the Gods, Trainee! If you had a real sword you would have just cut your own throat!"

  Mar put the pots and hamper on their dining table. The slight noise roused Llylquaendt, who padded to the table on bare feet and began to fill his bowl.

  "They've all adjusted well," Mar proposed, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.

  The medic speared a cube of squash on his fork and sniffed it. "Sihmal can still feel the sword that went through his chest." He popped the morsel in his mouth and chewed experimentally. "Phehlahm is not capable of believing that he was truly dead. Truhsg, as I am sure that he always has, takes refuge in routine."

  "You think that they will have problems?"

  "No more than they had before they died."

  Mar ate his own portion then got up and went to stand beside Truhsg. The legate had set Phehlahm and Sihmal to striking against each other's guard, turn and turn about, and the clack of their practice wands made an irregular tempo.

  "You're making Sihmal into a legionnaire?" he asked the legate.

  "He needed something to do, my lord king."

  "How is his progress?"

  "I can tell already that he'll never make an swordsman, my lord king. He's been too starved for too long to have the shoulders and the wrists for the sword, but the drills will instill discipline and not every legionnaire must hold the line."

  "Phehlahm doesn't seem to overmatch him by very much."

  "I ordered the ceannaire to move at one-tenth speed."

  "Ah."

  "My lord king, there is one thing that I t
hought I should mention."

  "What's that?"

  "I used to be right handed." Truhsg raised his sword, held in his left hand. "At least, I think I was."

  Mar frowned. "Are you having difficulty with your dexterity?"

  "No, my lord king. It feels natural to do things with my left. It just strikes me as odd."

  "Did Llylquaendt explain to you why that might be so?"

  "Yes, my lord king."

  "Any other problems?"

  "I am missing a number of scars and I think I'm as much as a fingerlength taller."

  "Neither should cause difficulty."

  "No, my lord king."

  "Truhsg, you've fulfilled your duty to your prince, your city, and the Empire -- you gave your life for them. I would understand if you chose to retire from active service."

  "The Monks must still be beaten, my lord king."

  "Yes, they must. Carry on, legate."

  "Yes, my lord king. You should have no doubts of that."

  Mar retrieved only twenty-two more men from Number One. As he could not take anyone in plain view of his earlier self, he was forced to intervene only seconds before the pieces of the wreck smashed into the ground. Also, as there was but one autodoc, he had to extract the corpses in sequence rather than all together, which required him to travel to consecutive instants of time separated only by minute fractions of a second. Rather than catch glimpses of the multitude of his earlier selves -- a prospect that felt intrinsically wrong -- he cast wards to remain hidden from view. All of the bodies were in terrible shape and each succeeding recovery deepened the medic's now perpetual frown.

  As he laid out the pieces of the final man, a marine whose name he did not know, Llylquaendt, in a voice tinged with memory, said, "The lives of men who die in defense of those they love and the things they believe in are not wasted."

  "Is that my conscience speaking again?"

  "No, it is the voice of my father. He was a medic before me and he told me that quite often. He died on a battlefield defending those he loved and the things he believed in."