In order to allow room for all who had requested the right to attend, Mar chose to have the trial out in the open on the highway in front of Ulor's grounded skyship. Drawn up in quiet ranks on three sides of the roughly rectangular, cordoned area were hundreds of officers, marines, and legionnaires representing all of the surrendered legions and every unit from the flotilla.
Mar had a chair near the hull of the skyship, with Berhl and Ulor on his left and Wilhm and Phehlahm (whose main task was to monitor the young Gaaelfharenii) on his right to act as marshals of the court. The judges, Captain Mhiskva (in his wise as Overlord of Bhrisnia), Lord Hhrahld, and Lord Chelsfyor sat at a table to his left. As L'Ghevh was a member of the nobility, it had been necessary to have the librarian fetched down from the Monolith during the night by Ulor, so that the knight-commander could be judged by a panel of his peers. Commander Aerlon, as prosecutor, sat alone to Mar's right. The prisoner, with guards behind, stood unbound in a hastily constructed pillory box built immediately to Mar's front.
Having been thoroughly tutored by Lord Chelsfyor on the procedures involved, Mar declared the court in session and then asked Commander Aerlon to present his case. Mhajhkaeirii'n military jurisprudence required the prosecution and defense to be given independently. While there was no right of direct cross examination, circumstantial or inferential evidence was not permitted. The Plydyrii officer, with efficient brevity, rapidly presented a dozen eye witnesses, nearly all of them from the conscript legions, to establish the charge.
Mar turned to Lord L'Ghevh. The knight-commander had been stripped of his armor and badges of office and stood destitute in only under tunic, trousers, and boots. He hardly recognized the man's face, having seen him only once. In the throne room of the Mhajhkaeirii'n palace, he had seemed self-assured, stalwart, and thoroughly professional. Now he looked confused, angry, and thoroughly frightened.
"Knight-Commander L'Ghevh, what say you to this charge?" Mar asked, repeating the challenge as he had been instructed.
Lord Chelsfyor had emphasized that a customary stilted phraseology was the obligatory. To Mar, the exaggerated aristocratic mimicry was simply another form of deception, but he had readily understood the need to distinguish the common speaking thief that he otherwise was from the king who must render justice.
L'Ghevh gripped the top rail of his pillory with both hands, clearly to subdue the shaking that possessed them. When he spoke, his voice quavered. "This farce is unlawful! I demand to see the Prince! It is my right as a member of the nobility!"
"I ask you once more, Knight-Commander L'Ghevh, what say you to this charge?"
"This is an outrage! You have no authority to accuse me!"
Ignoring L'Ghevh, Mar pitched his voice to carry to the spectators. "Is there any who would speak for the accused?"
There was a physical stir and a serration of negatives, but none came forward.
"Knight-Commander L'Ghevh, do you deny the charge?"
Mar half-expected him to do so, but L'Ghevh, white-faced, gritted his teeth and refused to respond.
Mhiskva, Hhrahld, and Chelsfyor deliberated all of fifteen minutes and then the later, acting as president of the panel, rose and announced with unstinting harshness, "Knight-Commander L'Ghevh, we find the evidence to be overwhelming. You have betrayed your oaths, your city, and your comrades. You are directly inexcusably responsible for and blatantly complicit in the deaths of numerous armsmen in the service of the Princedom, many of them under your direct command. As we have been unable to discover any supportable doubt of, or rational justification for, your actions, we hereby judge you guilty of treason most foul. May the Gods have mercy and not commit your spirit into the everlasting torment of the Outerworld."
Shivering, L'Ghevh began to vomit denunciations and epithets, which Mar and everyone else ignored.
Preparing to declare punishment, Mar flew up from his chair to a standing position. There could be only one sentence. He had understood that from the very first and had accepted without hesitation that it would be his task to condemn L'Ghevh to death. Mercy, in this case, was not an option. There was no question of the noble's guilt and Mar believed that the severity of the crime was indisputable. After a slight hesitation born of the sentiments of vanished life, he spoke, raising his voice to be heard over L'Ghevh's now half-sobbing babbles.
"Knight-Commander L'Ghevh, you are condemned to death."
Lord Hhrahld abruptly rose. "By your leave, my lord king."
By all appearances, this was a spontaneous act. Mar had not named an executioner, but that did not mean, however, that Captain Mhiskva, in his usual efficient fashion, had not made provision.
Without another word, the white-haired pirate vaulted the table in a graceful bound that seemed impossible for a man his size, sliding his great sword from its sheath with a wicked snickt as he moved, and advanced rapidly toward the prisoner, whose eyes grew large in fear. Reaching the pillory, Lord Hhrahld spun once in a complete circle at a speed that was too fast to follow, and then without pause returned to his seat. He did not once glance back as L'Ghevh's severed head went flying, leaving his spurting corpse to crumple to the pavement.
TWENTY-FIVE
17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 144th Day of Glorious Work
Year One, Day Fourteen of the New Age of Magic
(Secondday, Waning, 2nd Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
The Citadel
"The loss of Lazssri's forces at Elboern and the craven surrender of the conscripts at the Lower Gray have made our control of the city uncertain," Bhrucherra warned. "In addition, the expeditionary congregation is in disarray. The conspirators occupied too many positions of significance and their removal has left disruptive voids in the hierarchy. Our administrators issue conflicting orders or none at all. Instances of disobedience among the remaining legion conscripts are increasing and workmen and laborers are absconding from their tasks. We no longer possess sufficient Salients to compel obedience."
"Crucify the malefactors."
"We have done so, brother, but the executions are fueling rebellion rather than suppressing it. My agents have determined that the Apostate is regarded as a mystical warrior, a holy magician blessed by the gods, and is referred to as "The King of the Mhajhkaeirii' and 'The Scourge of the Forty-Nine.' News of his advance is common knowledge and many of the Mhajhkaeirii have been emboldened by the belief that he will soon retake the city."
Frowning, Traeleon enunciated some unpleasant truths as he examined them. "I am not certain that he cannot. If we recall all of the Shrikes from the east and send them against him, we may destroy his fleet of flying boats, but could well lose all of ours in return. If he has unchallenged control of the air, he will not meet our Salients in open field battle where their superior training could decisively crush his rabble, but will land wherever he pleases within the city and bombard our formations. Stone walls and towers will offer little protection."
"Then we should withdraw completely and cede him the city, brother. We have a week or more before his arrival. We have already reallocated much of the city's wealth to our own use and can accelerate the process, loading as much gold, silver, and mercantile goods as we can onto the Second Fleet. Anything we cannot take, we burn."
"He will pursue."
Bhrucherra shook his head. "He cannot immediately. His army is still relatively small and he cannot both garrison Mhajhkaei and send a force toward the Archipelago. He will have to pause to regroup, raise new legions, and expand his fleet of flying boats before he can challenge us in our own domains. Also, with the Princedom's bureaucracy in tatters, he and his renegades will be bogged down with the onerous task of governing this accursed city and its provinces. I doubt that he will be able to follow us to the east for months, perhaps as much as a year."
Traeleon's immediate reaction was to reject the idea. The capture of Mhajhkaei had been the centerpiece of his original grand strategy that would have completed the Ascension of the Broth
erhood and established his own personal rule of all the civilized lands of the northern Silver Sea.
But the appearance on the scene of the Apostate, his new magics, the devastating eruption of the conspiracy, and the Brotherhood's military reverses had drastically altered the state of affairs. The normal paradigms on which his vision had been based no longer held true.
"Very well, brother. We will follow through with our existing plans and strike at Mhevyr. We will establish a continental base there, far from Mhajhkaei and the Apostate's interference. Once we have reorganized and rebuilt our strength with the new war engines, we will drive overland in a lightning strike, crushing everything in our path."
Victory is your destiny, Waleck had told him. Traeleon had misinterpreted that prophecy when it had first fallen upon his ears, foolishly presuming it to mean that any battle he led would end in defeat for his enemies. Now, he could see its true meaning. His victory would be only after a lengthy travail, a final, massive victory that would crush his enemy and leave Traeleon the master of the north.
TWENTY-SIX
142nd Year of the Reign of the City
(Twelfthday, Waxing, 2nd Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
The Monolith
When Rhavaelei finished decoding the message, she sat back in her chair and stared at it for several moments.
Lord Ghorn reported captured and executed at Gealkaei.
She was too rational to be shocked, but all the same the news was disturbing. None of her plans had taken this possibility into account.
When they had met as youths, she had listened to his tales of adventure and war and pictured him, at least for a short time, as a nigh eternal heroic figure, impervious to the destructive forces of life. Later, as a mature man, he had been the constant face in the background, a standard feature of the Mhajhkaeirii'n ruling class. His survival of the capture of the city and flight to this benighted rock had seemed as fated as her own.
Of late, his gruffness had softened slightly and they had even shared meals while discussing her agents and connections. His gaze had acquired a tendency to wander at times over the curve of her bosom and hips, and she had taken it for granted that she would succeed eventually in her seduction, leveraging that relationship to influence the actions of the new Mhajhkaeirii'n regime.
Now, he had the effrontery to die!
Feeling something odd, she raised her hand to her cheek and felt wetness.
A tear?
Ridiculous!
Ghorn was nothing to her! Certainly not her first love -- there was no such man in existence -- and barely her first physical experience. His death was meaningless!
She used both hands to wipe away the traitorous moisture, and focused on how she might best use this inconvenient happenstance to her advantage.
There was the fact that, with Ghorn out of the way, she might finally be able to interact with the young king directly. Ghorn had forbidden her on penalty of re-imprisonment to make any attempt to meet privately with the boy and had even had the effrontery to enforce this stricture by having his armsmen lay hands to her!
In her efforts to convince him to relent, she had even gone so far as to secretly scratch her palm with a dinner knife, then rub dirt into it so that it festered and left a discernable mark. When she had pointed the Prince-Commander's attention to the scar proclaiming that she, too, had sworn the Blood Oath, he had somehow straightaway perceived it to be a fraud, though to her eyes there was nothing to distinguish it from those of the others, and dismissed her protestations out of hand.
Now, with Ghorn dead, there should be none to deny her!
Save that the king had taken most of the skyships and flown away to make war. Men were such idiots in that wise.
But the young witch -- the Gods forbid that Rhavaelei should ever think of the shameless tart as the Queen, or this newest counterfeit title of Empress -- had not gone with him. At first, Rhavaelei had thought that some perhaps exploitable schism had arisen between the magical pair, but had only today been informed of a whispered rumor that the witch was with child, which might explain why she was the sole magician to remain at the Monolith.
How, then, should Rhavaelei carry the news?
After a few moments' thought, she dwelt at length on unwanted might-have-beens and let meaningless tears flow.
When she appeared in the courtyard of the witch's villa, red-eyed, distraught, and babbling of Ghorn's death, the woman Yhejia, murmuring kind sympathies, immediately took her arm and led her straightaway into Telriy's presence.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The flotilla did not move on for more than half a fortnight.
The morning after the execution, Mar flew out beyond the fort to a dusty field that had once been covered in oats. There he received the Blood Oath from a huge assemblage of the liberated Plydyrii, Droahmaerii, Trozaerii, and Mhajhkaeirii. By Mhiskva's estimate, as many as nine of ten of the armsmen of the former Phaelle'n legions spilled their blood. Immediately, the massive crowd also acclaimed him as emperor, cheering his name for the better part of an hour.
On the heels of the event, Mar was once again mobbed by the officers of his staff. It was immediately necessary, Mhiskva insisted, that the newly expanded army be reorganized. Trusted officers would have to be promoted and suspect ones quietly diverted into non-combat roles. Weapons and equipment must be inspected. Many of the Mhajhkaeirii and Trozaerii being raw recruits, some additional training would be required, an unsmiling Berhl argued. The task of providing sustenance -- food, water, fuel for campfires, and the like -- would require that Aerlon greatly expand his quartermaster corps. Ulor, freshly designated master of the magicians, allowed that, as all of the previous would create a lengthy delay anyway, he could use more time to drill the newest trainees.
Mar readily acceded to the requests, but then, despite ardent protests, flew off to occupy himself during the reorganization by maintaining a continuous forward scout. He departed without plan and began by looping patrol arcs across the path that any potential Phaelle'n counterattack from Mhajhkaei would have to take. After the first couple of days, he moved about more or less at random, covering a broad swath of the land between the flotilla and the city.
Now well into autumn and the summer heat fading, the landscape below had taken on a dreary brown hue. Leaves in the woodlots and groves had begun to turn and fall, and most of the fields had been plowed and laid by to await the spring.
Only once did he see any of the Brotherhood. On the third day, he overflew a small caravan of wagons driving hard for the south just off the main highway. There were a few armsmen amongst them, but Mar made no attempt to impede their escape. They and the rest would be reckoned with soon enough.
When he grew tired, as he often did, he would not return to the flotilla but rather land wherever he happened to be. He would take rest in any shade available and on whatever couch he could find, whether it be hay, leaves, or bare dirt. To eat, he would sneak into any available farm and pilfer potatoes from cellars, corn from barns, or eggs from hen houses. He became quite proficient at cooking potatoes by heating the air around them with ethereal flux and boiling eggs by forcing heat into the metal of a stolen pot. At night, he snuck into hay barns or found repose in the spreading branches of solitary trees.
Once, he visited the village of Old Marsh on the Ice River. After tying red bows to his brigandine to partially disguise it (the half yard of ragged cotton cloth traded from a traveling peddler for four stolen eggs), he moved into the village on the main road, using a scooting ambulation copied after Signifier Aael and singing at the top of his voice to proclaim himself an entertainer. For a slightly adapted performance of two of the Seven Sacred Dances of z'm, demigoddess of Jocularity, he earned one copper, a fresh loaf of rye bread, two grilled fish, and a good walking stick. He had to cheat by covertly using magic to assist some of the more difficult tumbles and flips, but the villagers were thoroughly diverted and he was full and content when he left.
&n
bsp; Another time late one afternoon, he landed at the edge of a hamlet a long way to the east to get an anonymous drink from the communal well. After doffing his brigandine and hiding it under some blueberry bushes, he proceeded along the hamlet's single dirt cart track. Wearing the same bedraggled trousers and shirt that he had worn for the last several days, he hoped that most of the inhabitants would take him for a beggar, and the few adult inhabitants he encountered seemed to do just that. They waved and bid him a good day in a friendly fashion, but otherwise acted as if he were invisible; there was little spare coin in the pockets of people with so mean a living.
Several young boys and girls of various ages were playing on the well tended turf of the commons, and as soon as they saw him they scrambled toward him, drawn by that infrequent oddity -- a stranger. He continued on to the well house as they circled around and hopped up on the shaded stone curb to draw a bucket.
A little girl, about eight years old and wearing hand-me-down trousers and shirt, gave him the dipper from its hook and asked, "What's your name?"
Another little girl, dressed similarly and a bit older, did not wait for the first to finish before she demanded, "Where are you from?"
And then the floodgates opened, with the entire group crowding close to pester him with questions.
"Where are you going?"
"Do have family here?"
"Do you like my new dress?"
"Does that hurt?"
"How did you lose your legs?"
"Do you know any tricks?"
"Do you sing?"
Mar took a long drink from the dipper before he spewed out answers in the same streaming fashion. "I'm Koh. I'm from nowhere. I'm going nowhere. No, this is the first time I've been through here. Yes, it's very pretty. Sometimes. A wagon ran me over when I was about your age. No. Only to scare children."
The children all laughed, babbling occasionally relative comments, and then ran off chasing each other.
Key to Magic 04 Emperor Page 16