Key to Magic 04 Emperor

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  It was clear from the sour expression on Hwraldek's face that he knew that he had failed in the second endeavor (there had been no question of his failure in the first after the disastrous first encounter of the Privy Council with the emperor) and perhaps even done additional damage to his cause. The common citizenry had become thoroughly enraptured with the new emperor.

  After a few moments, the newly crowned Emperor of the Glorious Empire of the North moved to take his wife's hand and the couple rose and flew out above the Plaza. A resoundingly approving uproar exploded, and the echo under the portico roof became deafening.

  As the imperial couple continued to circle, playing to the adulation of the crowd, Erskh, with a grudging smile, had to admit that the entire show, though clearly produced to appeal to the plebian sensibilities of the population of the Lower City, had been genuinely entertaining and likely had gone a long way towards cementing the loyalty of the common people.

  He stopped smiling, however, when he recalled that Ghreghten's survival meant that, at literally any moment, the former viceroy could reveal information that would see Erskh face his own trial and unlikely-to-be-so-easily-pardoned punishment.

  TWELVE

  His lips pressed together, Mar watched as Priestess Seoralye and a gaggle of pastoral associates departed his day room. The only member of the Privy Council that had not come to see him this morning to ask his guidance on some more or less important but otherwise routine matter was Patriarch Hwraldek. By all accounts, the head of the House of Korhthenr had decided to maintain a low profile lest Quaestor Eishtren's draw fingers grow weak.

  "We need a new Viceroy," Mar declared to the group sitting around the long table.

  Mhiskva, to Mar's left, asked, "Who have you chosen, my lord king?"

  "I can't spend all day sorting out things like who should take charge of the renovation of the abandoned temples and shrines in the Lower City. These people act like they have to know what I want them to do before they can move one fingerlength and that's just not a viable situation. I'm not going to stay in Khalar beyond the end of the fortnight. I can't stay in Khalar. It can't be said enough -- the fight against the Brotherhood can't wait any longer. We must take the war to the enemy."

  His unease had begun to create a low level, constant annoyance in the back of his mind. The ether was trying to nudge him to some action, but he had yet to figure out exactly what the premonition expected him to do. There seemed little doubt that the decision to go in search of the second of Oyraebos' texts had been a mistake -- the disastrous failure of that attempt seemed proof enough of that.

  "He must be someone of unquestionable loyalty," Mhiskva suggested. "Someone who has the scar of the Blood Oath."

  "I'm leaving the city as soon as possible, and that's all there is to it."

  "No one is arguing with you, Mar," Telriy told him. She was eating again, a large brunch of milk, bread, fresh berries, walnuts, and citrus. "Just appoint someone. You are the Emperor. That means that you get to act arbitrarily."

  For one illicit moment, Mar wondered what she would look like if she had the same heft as Priestess Seoralye.

  Dispensing with the smile that this vision prompted, he pinned Berhl with his gaze. "You can be Viceroy. You're going to stay in Khalar anyway."

  The Vice-Captain looked pained. "Aye, my lord king, I'd be glad to do it, except you can't appoint a common armsman as Viceroy. It'll have to be a noble. The merchants and the bureaucrats won't show respect to anyone else. Besides, to tell you the truth, I'll have my hands full training the Khalarii armsmen and organizing the construction of the new skyships."

  "Military governor then."

  "I'm used to managing two jobs, my lord king, but if I had three, I'm not sure I could get any of them done properly."

  Mar scanned the other faces. Berhl's reasoning would also exclude Ulor and Yhejia, though Mar would have liked to have seen Yhejia attempt to mother an entire city. Wilhm would be out of his element, mental as well as physical, and a possible danger to himself and others without the pacifying influence of the ethereal bond of the Gaaelfharenii magic.

  "Lord Hhrahld?" The Lord-Protector, by all appearances, had re-attained full rationality, another direct result of the same weird, probably hereditary, flux modulations.

  The ancient pirate stirred to slowly shake his head. He had braided his long snowy locks into a single ponytail, and without half of his ragged, scarred, and honesty brutal face concealed by a shock of hair, he seemed even more threatening.

  "My duty resides elsewhere, my lord king. And I am too old by a half century to guard more than two children." Meaning, he had charge of Wilhm and Pip and wanted no more. "With your permission, I must decline the honor."

  "Mhiskva?"

  "While I would readily fulfill the duty if you should command it, my lord king, I believe that my axe would be put to more effective use in the battles to come."

  "I suppose you're right. The magic would not be as powerful with just two giants."

  The marine captain looked blank. "What magic is that, my lord king?"

  Mar grunted depreciatingly. "It'll have to be someone from the Monolith, then." He thought a moment. "Lord Purhlea. He fits Berhl's requirement of an aristocrat and yours of the scar. Aerlon can take command of the Monolith."

  Mhiskva nodded. "Excellent choice, my lord king. Shall I send a dispatch?"

  Mar had the sudden suspicion that the large captain had already discussed and arranged the appointment with the new viceroy. "No, I'll tell him myself. Ulor, make Number One ready. We leave within the hour."

  Mar smiled. Lord Purhlea's humorless discipline and rock steady competence should be just the potion that Khalar needed.

  What Mar needed was to get away from Khalar, to subsume himself in his magic, and to find a target on which to vent the burning anger that he felt every time he looked down at his missing legs and hand.

  THIRTEEN

  The 2,126 year of the True Cadre of the Great Seer

  (Firstday, Waxing, 2nd Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)

  The Hidden Monastery at Zhos in Gealollh

  "Brother Fhsuyl. I have had a vision."

  Fhsuyl's heart leapt within him. "Great Seer! Pray you reveal this vision!"

  The man otherwise known as Waleck placed a hand on Fhsuyl's shoulder and looked directly into his eyes.

  "You must warn the Supreme Cadre. Archdeacon Traeleon has been tempted by arrogance and pride and has betrayed the Work. Unless he is stopped, he will kill the man who will reveal the Restorer."

  Aghast, Fhsuyl, begged, "What shall we do to prevent this abomination, Great Seer?"

  "The time has come for those of the true faith to be unmasked. Our fraternity must be cleansed with the righteous fist of magic. Those who would hinder the Day of the Restorer to garner earthly comforts must be set aside."

  "We are ready, Great Seer, you have but to command us!"

  Waleck smiled somewhat sadly. "My visions shall guide you. This that I shall tell you is exactly what you must do."

  FOURTEEN

  Secondday, Waxing, 2nd Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire

  The Seat of Government, Mhajhkaei

  "Greetings, Martial Director."

  Lhevatr did not rise from his desk or make move for the sword that lay across one corner. His visitor had appeared from thin air. Neither his barred door nor the Salient guards who waited without had stirred. Such magic was unknown to him, but he suspected that his visitor was capable of much greater.

  "Greetings, Brother Waleck."

  "Martial Director, I have come to you now as I believe that our paths presently coincide."

  "Meaning?"

  "You know that I can perceive futures."

  "I have heard the rumor, yes."

  "I have foreseen yours."

  "And?"

  "You are in contact with the Society of the Duty."

  "You say that with confidence."

  "Becaus
e I know it to be true."

  Lhevatr shrugged. "What is it that you want of me?"

  "I require the full support of the Society."

  "That might be a difficult thing to obtain. Surely you must know that the Society is an organization only in the most ephemeral sense. It has no leaders, committees, or regular communication."

  "Perhaps. However, it does have influence and information."

  Lhevatr contemplated this for a moment, then asked, "What do you offer in return?"

  "A greater understanding of magic. Before the last great magical war, there existed a city in the land that is now called Bhrisnia. In that city, a renowned university of magic created a vast library that held every treatise on magic known at that time. That city was covered by ash and brimstone in the course of the cataclysm and now sits a hundred armlengths beneath the surface."

  Lhevatr frowned. "What use could we make of that? Brimstone and ash do not preserve. They destroy. No doubt all of the cities of the ancient world had libraries. All of them were destroyed likewise."

  "This one was not. By some odd swing of chance, the ward on the central archive did not fail. All of the books within have survived to this day in perfect condition. I can lead you to them."

  "Were I to convey your offer to those I know, what are the particulars that would be required of us?"

  "My visions shall guide you. This that I shall tell you is exactly what you must do."

  FIFTEEN

  Thirteenth Decade of the True Path

  (Secondday, Waxing, 2nd Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)

  Senior Brother Mhlaon shifted slightly along the row to the next squash plant and stooped to pinch the weed and grass sprouts from around it. Some of the sturdier weeds could be uprooted whole, but many of the grasses left roots that would sprout again. He liked to do his weeding in the afternoon since the warm sun salved the pains in his back and made him forget that he was too old to stoop. One of the younger brethren could have been assigned the tedious task, of course, but Mhlaon enjoyed the solitude and used it to meditate on his understanding of the True Path.

  When he straightened to move on, he caught sight of an older man, a stranger, walking up the trail that went across to the hamlet of Chytwae. As it would take the stranger some minutes more to come alongside the vegetable patch, Mhlaon continued with his work.

  When the stranger drew near, he raised a hand in greeting. "Good day to you, Brother Mhlaon."

  Mhlaon was not surprised. Individual brethren often traveled in common clothes. Even though the fraternity had taken control of these Mhajhkaeirii'n lands, there were still many who would upbraid or scandalously assault one who wore the hood of the Duty openly.

  "Good day, brother. Have you need of victuals or rest?"

  "No. My name is Waleck and I have been sent to speak with you." He made a certain sign.

  “There are no gods," Mhlaon responded. "There is only magic.”

  "And the Restorer has come. I am the Herald of his coming."

  For a moment, Mhlaon could not breathe. Stunned, he realized that he stood before the Herald of the Restorer spoken of in the Fifth Prophecy! He, Mhlaon, had been chosen to receive the Final Instructions!

  "There will be a winnowing of the chaff," the Herald told him. "Many of the Cadre shall be cut down and others who adhere strictly to the True Path must rise up."

  As he knew he must, Mhlaon spoke the Question of the Fifth Prophecy. "What must the faithful do, o herald?"

  "My visions shall guide you. This that I shall tell you is exactly what you must do."

  SIXTEEN

  17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 130th Day of Glorious Work

  Year One, Day One of the New Age of Magic

  (Thirdday, Waxing, 2nd Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)

  The Citadel

  "Once the conscripts have been in training for three fortnights," Lhevatr judged in regulated tones, "they can be used to replace garrisons at various posts in the pacified areas of Archipelago. Preeminence, this will free significant numbers of veteran armsmen for a spring operation against the rebelling cities of the far eastern coast. Over the course of the next year and a half, we should be able to raise a full twenty legions from within the urban limits of the city. Once the continental domains of Mhajhkaei are subdued, I estimate that a further one hundred legions can be organized."

  Traeleon nodded absently as he surveyed the smartly marching formations. He possessed an inherent suspicion of conscripts and presupposed them to be undependable. Every Salient knew that marching was easily learned, especially since the Brotherhood's instructors tended to flog and occasionally execute the irredeemably clumsy, but whether these neophyte armsmen would stand and fight in battle was a question that remained to be answered. Even if they surprised him by proving that they could face common steel, how would they react to the Apostate's magic?

  There was no point in denying the fact -- for the Brotherhood, war had changed. Before the advent of the Apostate, their unchallenged monopoly on magic and its brutal application had made swift victory assured. Like a wildfire, the Holy Trio backed fraternal legions and magically armed special units had swept through the Bronze Archipelago, crushing every force turned out against them. Now, a few hundred renegades with flying boats and practically no magical offensive weaponry had effectively halted their advance. It was time for a new strategy, one that discarded conventional tactics and obsolete military axioms.

  The Archdeacon turned his eyes to a sight much more interesting than the conscripts, the ground upon which the marchers tramped. Covered with compacted gravel and cleared in but a single night, this level field was an unambiguous demonstration of the glory and power of magic and an irrefutable declaration of the fact that that the Brotherhood of the Great Phaelle was the preeminent steward of that glory and power.

  Where once had stood several temples and shrines to counterfeit gods and a number of villas, apartments, and sundry buildings, now resided a two hundred paces square parade ground. Occupying the area at the northwest corner of the plaza that sat at the intersection of the Transverse and Transept, this location placed it along the path and thus in clear view of practically all of the great many Mhajhkaeirii that daily had to make their way to the Municipal Seat of Government, as the former Palace of the Princedom was now known.

  An hour-long, pinpoint barrage from the Duty had transformed the area into high mounds of cracked stone and shattered timber. From many reports, the calamitous racket of the bombardment had sewn near panic among the citizens, with hysterical rumors circulating of renewed fighting. After the last catapult cylinder fell, a thousand prisoners guarded by twice their number of keen eyed Salients had labored without rest from dusk to dawn to haul rubble to the Archivist tended Holy Relic known as the Obliterator. Anything tossed within the armlength-square hopper-like device's scarred blue metal maw simply ceased to be, leaving neither dust, nor smoke, nor other residue.

  Having spent sufficient time at the exercise to comply with habitual practice and ready to depart before the dust raised by the conscripts' boots became noxious, Traeleon turned from the rail of the review stand to look at Bhrucherra. "Make certain that loyal brethren are insinuated into the ranks of these conscript legions in order that any plots or rebellions might be instantly made known."

  The First Inquisitor inclined his head. "As you say, Preeminence. May I presume that decimation is the punishment that should be meted for any such traitorous acts?"

  "Without question. However, in egregious cases, let the entire roster of any legion that dares to transgress against Holy Magic and her chosen guardians be put to the sword. I grant you the discretion to entice an unfit legion into revolt in order to create an example."

  Bhrucherra's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the phrase, "Holy Magic." While personification of magic in this manner was not unheard of in the community halls of the Brotherhood -- the Brohivii in particular seemed enamored of the term
-- this was the first time that Traeleon had employed it, and he had done so with deliberation aforethought.

  The Archdeacon had prepared his next declaration with considerable care over the course of the previous three days, expanding on the theme that had come to him at the funeral for the dead of the Work. Traeleon rotated to make sure that he had the full attention of the other members of the Conclave, of the associated scribes, assistants, and functionaries, and of the other brethren, mostly rank and file Salients, within hearing distance.

  "I have received inspiration from Holy Magic. Let these words be recorded." He paused a moment as scribes scratched the date on fresh vellum.

  "Brethren, we live in the dawn of a new era," he declared, speaking deep from within his diaphragm to project his voice in full oratorical form. "We, a chosen few, have the elite privilege of existing on the cusp of the flowering of the great paradise that magic will usher into our world. It has been given to us as a sacred Duty to foster the birth of the glorious and longed for Restoration with the blood of all deniers, apostates, and renegades."

  He now believed firmly that he could no longer wait for his standard methods -- intimidation, conspiracy, and terror -- to achieve his aims. Though he had not made the fact known to any of the brethren, Traeleon was now persuaded that all of his previous suppositions concerning the Apostate were woefully incorrect. This youthful Mhajhkaeirii was not simply a fortunate discover of some previously unknown cache of ancient weaponry, but a true magic smith with an unheard of Ability, a fabricator who could create entirely new magics from the ether itself. To have accomplished what he had, he could be nothing else.

  That made him potentially the most powerful being alive.

  And, consequently, the greatest threat to the Brotherhood -- and to Traeleon -- in existence.