With all the other players on their marks, Mar finally descended. Though he had suggested no text, Mhiskva had been adamant that Mar, as king, emperor, and liberator, must address the people of Mhajhkaei. He had also broadly hinted that a display of magic to punctuate the occasion would not be inappropriate.
Mar had known full well that Lord Ghorn had considered him, as King of the Mhajhkaeirii, just another tool necessary for the achievement of certain objectives, and that the prince would have artfully endeavored to manage Mar's life to that purpose. It was now painfully clear that Mhiskva did not intend to let those objectives die with the Prince-Commander. Perhaps one day Mar would grow complacent with the onerous burden, but for now, the absurdity of it all still rankled.
Nevertheless, he had once again agreed to participate in the farce. To satisfy the requirement of a magical exhibition, he had chosen what he considered to be a more elegant spell, rather than something simply explosive. Having discovered the effect in his daily study of the ethereal world, he had practiced and recently perfected a new flux modulation whose simple purpose was to carry sound over distance, somewhat in the same manner as an echo, though with no distortion. When it came time for him to speak, his words would be carried to every corner of the massive crowd, swept along on gentle waves of flux.
Landing on the stage, he awarded Telriy and the others a resigned smile and then turned to face the crowd. A great roar went up from the Mhajhkaeirii, a thunderous, deafening salute -- Hail Emperor!
While Mar waited for the reaction to settle, Pip suddenly wiggled free of his guardians and ran across the stage, crying, "Wanna fly! Wanna fly!"
Obligingly, Mar infused the boy's clothing and boots, boosted him up an armlength or so, swirled him about for a moment, and then coasted him back into the scolding embrace of Yhejia.
The crowd responded with another approving tumult.
Finally, when all had quieted, he keyed his spell and spoke, his voice wafting over the crowd and, though he did not realize it at the time, on throughout the entire city.
"Good people of Mhajhkaei, for the moment, peace has come to this city. Those that have oppressed The Greatest City in All the World are gone, but, sadly, they are not defeated. True peace and security for the people of this city, and indeed for all the peoples of our world, can only be obtained through more war and struggle. The Brotherhood of Phaelle demands the eradication of all gods and absolute obedience to their magic. I say that they cannot be allowed to continue to foster this abomination. The power of the monks must be broken in every corner of the world and the adherents of their obscene doctrines driven out. We must rebuild the Glorious Empire, uniting every province and city, village and town. From one end of the Silver Sea to the other, law and freedom must reign. Only then will all peoples be free to bow before whatever gods that they chose. Only then will the benefits of magic be available to all. Only then will the specter of war be banished forever!"
It was the worst sort of populist nonsense, cribbed from his recollection of the recorded orations of half a dozen centuries' dead Glorious Emperors and all of it patently false in his opinion, but it seemed to be exactly what the crowd wanted to hear.
First one, then a dozen, then hundreds, then thousands, men and women, young and old, knelt in the broad avenue, producing and sharing knifes, cutting palms, spilling blood and shouting the Oath.
THIRTY
The drudgery of Empire seemed never to cease.
For a solid month, Mar submitted to tedious audiences with anxious nobles and needful commoners, used his magic to assist with reconstruction projects, awarded citations and medals, settled silly disputes among mercantile interests, attended meetings with foreign dignitaries and envoys, refereed raucous meetings of a partially reconstituted Principate Council, condemned collaborators to harsh punishments, approved the selection of new senators, elevated distinguished merchants, tradesmen, scholars and other worthies to vacancies in the peerage, flew twice each fortnight to the Monolith and Khalar to infuse new skyship hulls, and daily manufactured sand spheres to fend off the Phaelle'n attack that never came.
Telriy grew tired of the charade after only eight days and moved back to the Monolith in Number One, and thereafter Mar did his dead level best to share his henceforth perpetually sour mood with everyone he came in contact with.
Of course, considerable actual progress was achieved as well during this time. The harbor was cleared and construction started on new warehouses. Conventional water-borne galleys and barks were dispatched to reconnect nearby trade links. Food supplies were secured from outlying provinces and regular freight routes established with major towns, the Monolith, and Khalar using the sailed skyships which were now a ubiquitous feature of skyline of The Greatest City in All the World. The foundations of new manufactories to mass produce polybolos were laid and groups of scholars, philosophers, and smiths were encouraged to develop ideas for engines of war adapted to use the products of Mar's magic.
One of Mar's few welcome occupations was to meet every other day with his command staff to discuss progress toward prosecution of the war. The meetings were always held aboard Number Seven flying at an altitude of five hundred armlengths above the bay. Thus insulated from mundane interruption by any of the horde of officious persons -- ecclesiastical, commercial, civil, or otherwise -- who felt themselves sufficiently important to have a claim on the Emperor's time, the discussions were short, to the point, and focused.
While the officers had considered various targets, strategies, logistical problems, and force allocations, Mar had come to the realization that there could be no direct military movement against the Brotherhood for many months.
There were two major points of difficulty, one that could be remedied with time and one that might never be. First, the Imperial Army would remain more of an organizational concept than an on the ground fact until many thousands of legionnaires, marines, and skyship crewmen were recruited and trained. Second, the creation of the fast-striking skyship mobile corps that Mhiskva and the others believed would be the key to victory against the Brotherhood's garrisoned cities depended entirely on the recruitment and training of many dozens of magician pilots. This accomplishment looked thus far uncertain.
Of the -- up to this point -- almost two thousand applicants from the city, only five had passed the sand test. Mar had no idea why the proportion of successful candidates was so small compared to previous tests, but if this result proved the standard in populations of significant size, it would be all but impossible to field more than a few dozen magically driven skyships.
While sailed skyships could transport ground forces, they would be too slow and lacked sufficient maneuverability to act as the fighting platforms that would be needed to contend with the Brotherhood's vessels.
As of today, no solution to this quandary had been found and thus it was that Mar was most gratified to hear Aerlon eagerly outline a proposal to sew confusion and incite rebellion in the heart of the Brotherhood's domains, the Bronze Archipelago.
"Just as High-Captain Mhiskva's marines were able to use sabotage and ambush to disrupt the Black Monks' advance from Mhajhkaei toward Elboern, I believe that numerous small groups of legionnaires -- certainly no larger than a file -- can be covertly landed on the major islands -- Plydyre, Droahmaer, and Trozae, for example -- and there use the same irregular tactics to do significant damage to the enemy's supply lines, command infrastructure, and civil authority, as well as make contact with peoples minded to side with the Empire."
"The files should be drawn from the legions of my corps," Dhrasnoaeghs suggested. "Men native to those islands who can show the scar. They will know the terrain, the road networks, and the local inhabitants."
Lord Hhrahld smiled. "I've a bit of experience with 'irregular tactics' and I know the Silver Sea and its islands as well as any. I could go. My great-grandson is as well protected in the Empress' care as he can be and I grow weary of the shackles of civilization. My sword yearns for battle
."
"No, Uncle Hhrahld," Wilhm said, shaking his head in his ponderous way. "I am going to the mountain soon and I have dreamed that you will be with me this time."
Mar had no idea what to make of this, but Lord Hhrahld, after glancing at the younger Gaaelfharenii's face, appeared ready to accept it without question. "Good. At least we will see the use of our swords again soon."
"It seems to me that Aerlon would be best suited to organize and command these infiltrators," Mar said, watching the Plydyrii's smile broaden. Mar knew full well that Aerlon had been motivated to make the proposal by his own desire to drive the monks from his homeland and saw no reason not to support that goal. "What's next?"
"Commander Relvhm," Mhiskva, who acted as moderator by default, said.
As was his habit, the Khalarii stood and bowed. "My lord king, given that the structure and size of the Imperial Army grows daily and will eventually outstrip the limited modern Mhajhkaeirii'n rank structure that is currently used, I would like to suggest that some of the obsolescent intermediate ranks of the ancient Imperial Army be resurrected. As an example, the ranks of Maidsear and Coirneal could be inserted between Commander and Knight-Commander to allow --"
Mar waved his hand. "I've no problem with that. Excellent suggestion, Coirneal Relvhm. With the current lull, I think that it's time for you to return to Khalar. I want you to raise and arm a new corps, five full legions. Oh, and make that Coirneal Aerlon as well."
Promotion was one of the few imperial prerogatives that Mar reveled in. Any competent officer or armsman that crossed his path would find himself slapped with a higher rank. This was not, or, at least not entirely, motivated by mischievous extravagance; as Relvhm had implied, the enormous scale of the forces needed to invade the Archipelago would require a vastly expanded officer corps.
For the rest of the meeting, the group again wrestled with two recurring questions that had no easy answers.
One: How to support the eastern Sister Cites? For now, any substantial direct military aide was out of the question and anything less would be no more than a useless token. Without magic or skyships, it seemed unlikely that any of the princedoms could successfully defend themselves against Phaelle'n attack, but to cede them to the monks outright made no sense whatsoever.
Two: Should support be solicited from the peoples outside the Phaelle'n sphere? The smaller islands of the Silver Sea would not likely be inclined to choose sides given their relative vulnerability unless compelled to do so. Aside from the Matriarchal Commune of the coastal Irhfeii, the tribes of the interior of the southern continent were thought to be barbarous and primitive. Of the Szillarn city-states of Bhelaen and Kh’ordhif, little more than their names were known.
When the officers began to rehash already tired ideas, Mar tabled the matters in hopes of some future epiphany and called the meeting to a close.
After they all had gone back to the city in a launch piloted by Trea, Mar avoided an afternoon of dreary but urgent appointments by having his recently refilled barrels of sand brought on deck.
THIRTY-ONE
Sleeping alone, Mar had discovered, made him restless and irritable.
Before Telriy, he could sleep anywhere, in any position, and under almost any weather condition. Now, even the most comfortable bed was unsatisfactory in her absence. Most nights, he would rise after midnight, with much of the city locked in slumber, and covertly speed from a window of his cabin on Number Seven. In the darkness and quiet he felt free, unencumbered by the weight of kingdom and empire, and sometimes would prowl about villa and apartment roofs, trying windows just for the fun of it. Later, he would perch on a high point and simply experience the night, delving the infinite variations of natural flux as he observed the horizon, the moons when they were up, and the stars in their courses.
One of his favorite spots for this last was the decapitated North Tower of the Palace. Open to the wind, the stub of the southern outer wall had a level course of stones wide enough for him to recline upon. Tarrying there in the cooling air until just before daybreak allowed him to derive some relaxation from the isolation and solitude.
Tonight he went directly to this preferred roost and landed, intending to lie down, close his eyes, imagine that he was back in Khalar long before his accursed meeting with the old scrapper, and try to sleep.
An indistinct noise or some vagrant whiff of flux made him turn and look across the yawning gap of the tower interior toward the fractured remains of the stairs.
A figure stood there on the top step, one that he knew all too well. Oddly, Waleck looked exactly as Mar had seen him last on the barge, even wearing the same clothes. Without moving physically, Mar instantly infused a fractured bit of granite and shot it toward the old man. It passed right through and vanished into the dark beyond the edge of the tower.
"Yes, you have guessed correctly," Waleck confirmed in a voice that was not quite his own. "I am not present before you in body. This is only a visual projection skewed around the bounding horizon of the background ether. It is not at all a difficult spell, but the communication is subject to interception. Luckily, there are none alive today with both the skill and power to do so."
"You're not a prisoner." Mar did not quite frown.
"No."
"Have you taken up with the Brotherhood, as Telriy said?"
"Not in point of fact, no. Rather, I have decided to make use of them for my own purposes."
This was not the Waleck that Mar had known. The old scrapper had been weary of the world, lost in the past, and both wise and ignorant in a thoroughly confounding way. This Waleck was energized, determinedly fixed in the present moment, and obviously possessed of a knowledge of magic that no modern man should have. In retrospect, it seemed entirely likely that Mar's version had never truly existed.
"Why have you come, old man?"
"I will gladly answer that, but first, you must allow me to explain why the world is the way it is and offer an admittedly incomplete description of my own place in it."
To signify his agreement, Mar waggled the stump of his left arm. He often gestured with the stump as it tended to disconcert those personally unfamiliar with him, but now he intended it to demonstrate that he, also, had drastically changed.
"Mar, while the things I will tell you may seem to scantly merit belief, I swear to you that each and every detail is utter truth."
Mar waggled his stump again. "Get on with it. I've filled my quota for longwinded speeches today."
Waleck tilted his head slightly in acquiescence. "My part in this story is a long one. I was born five thousand years ago, give or take a decade or century, in the ancient age when magic was as common as the air you breathe, when every man, woman, and child save for an misfortunate few could use and produce spells with the most meager of efforts. It would be impossible for me to accurately describe the life we lived because this modern language has no terms and no concepts for the things that magic could do, but I assure you that it was wondrous and glorious!"
"I've seen the weapons of the Brotherhood and I know that their magic is from a more advanced age before history began. I wouldn't call any of them wondrous or glorious."
"Ah, I suppose that you might not, but would that I could show you the time in which I lived. Then you would truly know! Oh, the things that we could do!"
"You said lived? Are you a spirit, then? A phantom?" Mar had never believed in such, but then, he had once not believed in magic.
"No, I am living flesh, more or less. I have existed -- I cannot say that the wretchedness that I have experienced has been life -- for five millennia."
Mar shook his head to show his incomprehension.
"There was a war, as there always seems to be. It was a war that encompassed the entire world and everyone on it. Waged with weapons of the most terrible magics, it went on for more than seven score years. Why it started and why it continued are questions that have no meaning, now. All that matters is that in the end it destroyed every corner o
f civilization, murdered nearly every man, woman, and child, and rearranged the entire surface of the world. I was a soldier -- a warrior you would call it -- in that war, a high ranking officer and a powerful sorcerer. To save a pitiful remnant, I betrayed my oaths. I earnestly believed that my act was one of self-sacrifice, with the visions granted by my magic showing what clearly appeared to be my death. However, it was not death that found me, but the complete searing away of my mind and memory. As a consequence of my rank, I had had the rare privilege of having infinitesimally small autonomous mechanisms composed of the purest flux inserted into my flesh. Their normal function was to maintain my health and extend my lifespan so that my people could garner the greatest benefits from my magic and skills. The final battle was such that all who had them instantly perished, and likewise mine should have sealed my doom. But, by some incomprehensible quirk of the ether, mine escaped total destruction and managed to keep what remained of me alive. The mechanisms are not intelligent. They could not understand the human conception that what was left should not be saved. They simply followed their limited instructions, preserving my mindless corpse for two thousand years as they slowly but surely worked to repair the damage."
Waleck paused, as if searching for his past. "Then one bright, warm day, I crawled from the cold of my tomb. But I was not the man that I had been. The process of repair was not complete and my full intellectual faculties were not restored. I was only a shadow of what I had been. My memory was a vagrant, irresponsible thing and my skill in controlling the ether intermittent, undependable, imprecise, and many times non-existent. Much worse, this debased intellectual state did not remain constant, but fluctuated and changed, sometimes quite abruptly as the mechanisms continued to work. After a year, ten years, fifty years, I would lose who I had been and become someone else, growing and shedding identities like a snake sheds its skin. I have lived a hundred lives in a thousand places, most of the time not remembering anything of the lives that went before."
Key to Magic 04 Emperor Page 18