by Guy Antibes
“I was in South Pent where brigands bludgeoned me. I woke to a horrible headache and blood on the side of my head.”
“Dizziness? Fainting?” She went to the windows and pulled curtains across the windows.
“I’ve managed to keep from falling most of the time, but I’m still getting dizzy. I thought it would be better by now.”
“You’ve had a very bad wound. People have died from a blow like this. Your skull has been splintered. You’ve used a great deal of magic since this happened.”
“How does my using magic have anything to do with this?”
The healer laughed. “You really don’t know. Magic is a physical force. It uses us up. When you’re young, it doesn’t matter. When you get older, it’s harder to rejuvenate.”
“They never mentioned that at the Academy.”
“They wouldn’t because most magicians… most people don’t have enough power to really sap their strength. They get tired, just like a day of physical labor. After a good night’s sleep, they are just fine the next day. I can sense that you’re different.”
Panix sat on the table, head throbbing. “But I’ve slept and rested. I haven’t used any magic for the last two or three days, yet this morning my head hurt as badly as ever.”
“Your wound is infused with magic. Whatever you did leached out your natural healing strength. I don’t know what kind of magic would do that, but it’s very powerful. Your sister said you were unusually talented. Did you do anything special?”
Panix didn’t know if he wanted to confide in this healer, but he had to get better. “Well, I had to fix up a cottage and used a lot of magic to do that, but that was before I was hurt.” He paused. “I, uh, detached my mind from my body. Did it twice. Right after my injury.”
“New magic.” Sorah looked at Panix in awe. “I’ve never heard of that. I hate to ask you, but I’m going to ask you to do it again. It may delay your recovery, but I have to see how it works against the wound.”
“I don’t want to,” Panix said. “I did it in need and it made me uncomfortable.”
“Now, now. You’re a big boy. I want to heal you, Panix. Just do it for me, will you?” She gingerly touched his skull, sending little shards of pain into his mind.
Panix lay down on the table, wincing a bit as his head hit the small pillow. He started by centering his thoughts. He found his focus, and then went deeper and deeper into his calm until he felt the separation. He was in a dark warm place, yet still could sense the gentle probing of Sorah.
“That’s sufficient.”
Panix did not jerk away from his state, but gradually reversed the flow, thinking of slowly coming to the surface of a lake after diving in. He lifted his eyes. “Was that good enough?”
“I’d say. Never seen that before, and I’ve seen plenty, from magicians and from my regular clients. When you separate yourself, all of the energy in your head goes right to some focus. Do you use your centering technique to launch the spell? It’s like a little picture, isn’t it? That’s what it looked like to me.”
“You could sense it?”
“The image? Not the image, but I could detect the focus. Your sister taught you that trick, didn’t she? Taught it to me, as well as all of my classmates. We use it to focus and that’s all. You use it as a springboard into something else. My image is Spunky, a childhood dog. I learned it’s a mind technique and not magic at all, but I could see you reach the state and then your mental energy just disappeared into the image and came back when I called. Here it is over three hundred years since the Awakening and we still learn things.”
“What about my injury?” Panix was uncomfortable talking about new magic. He didn’t want people telling him he has special powers. He’d had enough of that at the Academy.
“Oh, that. Lie still.” Sorah put her hand on his wound. “I generally let nature do its thing for all, but the most serious maladies, and even for them I generally just have to give a little push on my part. For you, I need to give you some of my power. This may never heal on its own if you keep practicing this mental magic.”
Panix could feel his skull tingle. Magic and heat surrounded his wound. There was searing pain, and then it was over. “That hurt.”
“Are you complaining? Get up.”
Panix rose and found that the dizziness had disappeared. He put his hand to his wound—the side of his head lacked hair. “What did you do to me?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I told you to be a big boy.” Sorah smiled at her patient. “The hair will grow back. I had to use it to bind your wound. You’d be surprised how useful hair can be in healing. It’s wonderful for knitting bones. The pain and heat you felt were from the removal of the hair and the use of it in binding your broken skull. Your skin was healing normally, so you’ll have the scabbing and you’ll always feel a line along at the worst part of your injury. It’s about the length of your little finger.
“If you ever get a head wound again, you make sure you see an expert healer as soon as you can. Don’t let it go.”
Panix gingerly touched his wound. He could feel it ooze and saw a bit of blood on his fingers. “My head doesn’t ache like before. Do I need to restrict my activities?”
Sorah looked at her patient. “I wouldn’t do the mind separation trick for a few weeks. I can’t see what good you can do with it that simply putting yourself asleep won’t do. The cracked skull will knit up by the time your hair grows back, with that part of your skull stronger than before. Then you should be as good as new.”
~
“What happened to you?” Harlan said as Panix walked through the door. “A letter appeared on the coin you left on the sideboard. “
Panix unfolded the paper and read. Corilla Westter instructed him to stay at his cabin. Moshin had finished in Bentonnia and would meet him at his house for more training. She apologized for Quill. His work habits were already known. The Marquessa had already given her a less detailed report and had spoken highly of Panix’s efforts.
“I needed a little healing for the knock to my head in South Pent. I feel better now. Did you read the books?”
“I got through two of them. Your friend Moshin’s was the best book. I enjoyed reading your notes about the Sovad approach. I can see possibilities of combining the Moshin’s context with the needs-based concepts of Sovad.”
Panix grabbed Moshin’s book from the kitchen table, and poured them both a glass of wine, and led Harlan outside to the porch.
“What did you learn?” So began the discussion. Panix and Harlan began to discuss the principles of investigation and examples in the book and notes. Panix found himself learning as much as Harlan as they discussed how to apply Moshin’s work.
Their discussion made some sense out of the actions of Sovad, now that Panix could place them in the kind of context Moshin had talked to him about years ago. Panix could see the overall plan Murgontia had been implementing as he discussed his suspicions with Harlan. There were layers, each failure leading to another plan. There had to be other layers, more steps to their strategy.
The inexperience of the pair prompted more questions that would have to wait for Moshin, but Panix was convinced that Foald Baltac was right about another attempt to invade Pent. He wondered if Sovad had escaped execution.
The sun set, forcing Panix to conjure a lightglobe and bugs, attracted by the light, eventually drove them into the house.
Just before bed, he looked at his head in a mirror, standing over the kitchen sink. Panix made a decision that he thought would change how people looked at him, for a few weeks, anyway. He reluctantly ran his hand over his hair. He took a towel and brushed the remaining hair on his head off of his skull.
~
Nirov Kyrod, son of Uven Kyrod, sat in the fashionable tavern below his suite of rooms in the city of Gerell. The tavern’s seats and tables were highly polished dark wood with wide-spaced gaslight chandeliers, giving the main room an intentionally dim appearance while thick rugs muffled the sound and gave the
place an intimate feel. Nirov was in the process of raising a glass of wine to his lips when Jorlan Roccoa walked into the room.
“Over here, Lord Roccoa.” Nirov raised his hand, catching Jorlan’s attention. He finished his sip of wine while the fat man made his way to his table. Nirov’s fair, thin features and blazing blue eyes made quite a contrast to the ever-sweating presence of the dark-complexioned Roccoa. Where Nirov’s hair was blond, straight, and short, Roccoa’s fell in oily ringlets to his shoulders.
“How are you, Nirov?” the man said.
“A glass of wine for my friend, maid.” Nirov pulled on the maid’s skirt, garnering a scowl, as she grabbed the cloth from the Murgontian’s grasp.
“Pardon,” the maid said remembering her place. “I will get it for you presently.” Roccoa leered at the woman as she made her way to the bar.
“I have some better wine up in my rooms. Care to join me?” Nirov said loudly enough for others to overhear.
“Certainly, my friend.” Roccoa rose along with his host and left the tavern walking past the maid with the glass of wine on her tray.
After they reached Nirov’s rooms, the casual amiability of their relationship ended. “Has the King signed off on the permission?”
“Not yet, my friend.” Roccoa smiled, spotting a carafe of wine on Nirov’s sideboard. Fine rugs covered the plain wooden floors, making the rooms seem plusher than they were. At the end farthest from the windows, two gas jets flickered.
“We don’t have much time. Summer is nearly upon us. What are the King’s problems… or are you not trying hard enough?”
“I’m trying, but you know how indecisive King Tomlano is. One day he’s all for it. The next day someone like Tisano, the foreign secretary, comes in and dissuades him. It is all so tedious, so frustrating.” He tried the wine and winced. “What is this?”
“It is Murgontian. I like its astringent flavor.”
“More like vinegar than wine. No wonder you Murgontians always behave like a pole has been shoved up your rear ends.” Roccoa poured the wine out on a potted plant.
Nirov ignored the slight. “We need to get permission within the next week.”
“You’ll get it. You’ve paid me a lot of money and I will earn it, you’ll see. I’ll be by in two days.” Roccoa waved as he left Nirov’s rooms.
“Did you hear that Divvid?” Nirov said. “I’m not too confident in Roccoa, even if he has the King’s ear.”
A short sandy haired young man walked out from a back room. “Should we send a pigeon to your father?”
“Yes,” Nirov said. “And to Wovin Yetter. Your father will be joining us in a few days. I do believe we are going to need him. Possibly on Roccoa, but more likely for a regicide. That’d be a first for Sovad, wouldn’t it?” Nirov rubbed his hands in anticipation of such an event.
“I don’t keep count of my father’s assassinations.” Divvid said pouring himself some Murgontian wine. He tasted the cup and then drained the wine. “From your own vineyards?”
“Of course, Murgontia’s best.”
Divvid nodded and smiled as he poured another cup.
~
The military steamcar pulled up to the tent with huge wide wheels covered with mud from the previous day’s rain. An oilcloth collapsible roof kept the occupant somewhat dry.
“I have dispatches for General Crissor,” the driver said as he jumped down from the car, standing at attention and offering a message case to an officer.
The flap parted and the General put out his hand. “Give it here, Reggor.” He grabbed the case out of the Colonel Provid Reggor’s hand and let his Chief of Staff into his tent. General Buvat Crissor frowned and grunted as he read the dispatch.
They had camped for weeks waiting for word that the Pentish army had moved from one or both of the passes. Three thousand men in close proximity generated disease and one quarter of his troops were not fit for duty with sickness running through the camps of Murgontia’s Seventh Army posted in the foothills of northern Murgontia.
“Bah,” he said to his intelligence aide. “Sovad failed. Wovir knew he would.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t entirely Sovad’s fault, General.”
“What’s past is past. We now move to the west. We’ll be joining the Third Army on the borders with Gerellia,” Crissor said. He bristled at the prospect of double-timing it towards Gerellia. The hilly terrain would sap his men’s strength as they traveled west. “How many can we move?”
“Perhaps two-thirds. The rest will have to stay here and recover or we could muster them out,” the Intelligence aide said.
Crissor was silent in thought. He wanted to arrive in Gerellia with a larger army than the Third, but Reggor was right about the supplies. “I agree. We’ll take all the supplies and muster out those who can’t make the journey. Any word on the war machines?”
“They’re not ready. I inspected them at the factory. The ram guns work, but they are even less reliable than steam engines. I saw three men injured just while I was there observing the tests. I’d never take them to the field. It’s hard enough to keep steam wagons running.”
Crissor looked at the leafy patterns of shadows that the sun painted on his tent. “With those machines operating they way they were designed, we could be in Pent in two weeks.” He looked back at Reggor. “Can you picture what the Pentish Army would do when we fired projectiles at them with the guns? As it is, we’ll have to use horses and wagons and it will take us over a month. The sooner we start, the sooner I’ll be able to put my feet up on the Council Table in Pent palace. Let’s get as many men on the march as possible. Those are my orders. I’ll show Gorvil Bollet who’s the general,” said Crissor as Reggor left.
He walked out of his tent and watched Reggor assemble the officers to get the army in motion. To his north he looked at the mountains. A mere thirty leagues over those mountains lay South Pent. A week’s march and they could have proceeded unopposed all the way north to Pent City. It was not to be. Damn Wovir Yetter and his lackeys. If the army could use floaters, it wouldn’t have to rely on that damned unreliable steam technology. What a waste of resources!
~~~
Chapter 18
Panix stood on his porch as his friend, Moshin Twent, approached through the light rain to his house.
“Put the horse in the barn, then come on in,” Panix said, as Moshin pulled his saddlebags from his horse and other bags from the small floater and put them on the porch.
“Where did this rain come from and what happened to your hair?” Moshin said as he took off his muddy boots and shook out his hat and cloak. He looked at Harlan. “And why is he here?”
“The rain came from the sky, and I removed my hair after a healer took half of it off fixing my skull. You’ve already met our new partner, Harlan Grennoc.”
Panix felt reassured by the presence of his old mentor. Now that he joined the KII, he needed Moshin’s experience and perspective more than ever.
“Actually I like the rain. It always slows things up a bit.” Moshin peered up at Panix. “I’m not so sure that’s the right look for you, my friend.” He sat on one of Panix’s comfortable chairs. “That feels good after three weeks on the road.”
“What, no teleportation in Bentonnia?”
“When I get to Gerell, maybe I’ll be able to zip on down to Morven.” Moshin noticed his book on the table. He picked it up. “Reading my stuff?”
Harlan gave Moshin a wry smile. “We both are.” The three settled in to talk.
“You heard about my adventures with Quill?” Panix said. “I’ve decided I really need training, but I already know how to drink and sleep.”
“Was he that bad?”
“Probably, but we won’t get into that. I learned a lot when I went down to South Pent. I used my magic in ways I’ve never done before. I applied the techniques I used in Pent and during my brief time at the Academy and redirected them into something entirely new. But I feel like I’m working in the dark. Quill, even
sober, doesn’t have the knack for the work that Harlan has. We’ve already learned more talking to each other than Quill ever knew. I want to fuse magic with technology and use it to do new things.”
“An interesting concept, Panix. The KII is nearly as fearful about technology as Murgontia is about magic.”
“I know your career has been based on a little talent and a lot of experience. I agree with the little magic. Do too much and your magicians lose all their strength. But Harlan and I think you can augment the magical side with focused technology and use experience to leverage all three and create a new way of finding things out.”
“But—”
“I know we already use messaging coins and all those little things. We’re thinking of a new synthesis. I met a man, Sovad Mustak—”
“I heard. Nasty character. What were your impressions of him? Even more importantly, how did you get him to tell you his name?”
Panix told him his Sovad experiences. “He taught me something profound at Baltac’s. It isn’t the magic that’s important; it’s what the magic produces. At Baltac’s, all I thought about was the magic, not about fulfilling the need.
“We sat down and outlined everything that Baltac’s alloy could be used for. Rather than saying everything could be made out of the alloy, we evaluated the results. What was cheaper to make? What would work better using whatever material? Did it make sense for a magician to make certain pieces or would they be better made using machinery? The results were surprising.”
“I thought we were talking about intelligence.”
“We are. I thought we could create a results-oriented way to collect intelligence. For example, I’m not suited for covert work. I’m too much of a magician and just don’t have a furtive sense—too direct. Harlan is too much of a smart aleck. But I do have a place and so does he.
“Lorna and I stopped Sovad in his tracks in South Pent. True, we just about got ourselves killed, but we did it. I know, I used too much magic, but Lorna knew the land and I used magic. I could feel that our efforts weren’t balanced by design, but our own skills and knowledge complemented each other’s. There are intelligence missions where if we have a chance to plan, we can use the same kind of balanced approach—a team approach. I want to find out what I can do best. But more importantly, I think we can develop a synthesis of magic, technology, and experience to make intelligence work more effectively,” Panix stopped to hear the rain pound on his roof. “You need to help us figure it out.”