by Garon Whited
“Since our last conversation, we have not had time to continue those researches in any meaningful way. It is hoped we can persuade you to show us the technique, or at least answer some questions.”
“I can walk you through it, sure. Not with a real body, of course, but you’re welcome to watch an illusory reconstruction.”
“That will help,” T’yl assured me.
“Happy to oblige. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Sedrick and his horses came into my public gate room with a hot, tropical breeze. I kept a sharp mystical eye out for scrying gateways and similar magic. Sedrick brought along a new dog. It looked like some sort of short-haired collie. I didn’t ask what happened to the other dog; I wasn’t sure if it was polite to bring it up.
I greeted Sedrick, made friends with the dog—Tak—and sent for someone to take care of his horses. They were dusty and sweaty and needed a good rubdown. Sedrick placed the reins directly in the hands of the man who came for the horses. Sedrick patted his horse on the neck, soothingly, as he did so. After that, the warhorse went with the groom and the pack horse followed. Tak stayed with us, sticking close to Sedrick but looking about alertly and with great interest in everything.
“How goes the quest?” I asked.
“Hot, somewhat dusty, and humiliating,” he replied, wiping his brow. “Might we enjoy the luxuries of the baths while we talk?”
“I have spells for cleaning, if you like.”
“As do I. I enjoy the baths here, however. If you are not opposed.”
“I don’t know if I’m opposed. I don’t recall having used them in recent years. Where are they, exactly?”
We went down to one of the public bath areas. They’re not as popular as they could be. The main baths in the undermountain are built for a couple hundred people at a time, but public bathing isn’t a Rethven custom—or wasn’t. It’s catching on as a Karvalen custom, at least in the segregated baths in the undermountain, mainly because there aren’t any private bathrooms. The baths do see regular use, but I doubt they’re ever at capacity. I can’t say I blame them; public bathing isn’t my preference, either. But if Sedrick wants a bath and is cosmopolitan enough to enjoy the things, can I really do anything but pretend I’m delighted? I would feel even more awkward letting him borrow my bathroom while we talked.
Still, private baths… How complicated would the water system become in providing a private bath to every set of living quarters? Is it a question of complexity, or is it a question of water flow? The water in the bathrooms is a constant-flow arrangement. If it had to be running all the time, how much water would one private bathroom take? Or ten thousand bathrooms? Is it even practical to have private baths? Or is it necessary to have big, public ones? I suspect the determining factor is the water flow, based on my previous linkages with my pet rock.
We continued with small talk as we walked down. Upon entering the wash chamber—waterfalls for scrubbing before entering the main bath chamber and the big pool—Sedrick stripped down entirely unselfconsciously and rinsed a lot of Kamshasa off. Tak, the dog, also rinsed and shook a few times. I felt awkward standing around fully dressed, so I went along with it. It’s a social pressure thing. On the plus side, it might encourage others to use the public baths if word got around the King occasionally dropped in.
On second thought, would it encourage people? On this side of the Eastrange, probably so. I suspect there may be some cultural differences in the kingdom, primarily based on geography. California is not like Maine, Alaska is not like Florida, yet they’re all part of the same country.
After the preliminary rinse, we entered the main bathchamber with its heated soaking pool. One of the features of the main pool is the curvy edge. It isn’t divided into smaller pools, but it does have dents in it, like curved booths in a restaurant. You can find one to suit your party, from two to twenty, and settle down for a long discussion of whatever takes your fancy. The water comes in at the center of the pool, spouting out of a stone fountain—lots of horses, for some reason. An array of tiny holes in the outer rim allow the water to drain behind the bathers. There’s always a gradual flow away from the center to the edge, into your little nook, keeping the water warm and fresh.
There are other, more specialized bath rooms—one for sauna, one for swimming, even one for the masochists who enjoy frigidly cold or ridiculously hot water. Personally, I’ll stick to the oversized hot tub.
Sedrick and I settled by the rim of the pool, our personal bundles behind our heads, at the edge. As we did so, a couple of ladies approached and knelt by the edge. They wore tight-fitting things around their breasts and hips, kind of like a cross between bandages and bikinis. Judging by the way they wore their hair—ponytails, rather than loose, braids, or wriage-hair-bag-things—and their minimalist garments, they were for hire in almost any capacity. When they asked if there was anything we might desire, Sedrick gave them a few silver coins and instructions. One started working on his shoulders and arms, the other lowered herself into the water, sat down slightly away from him, and massaged his feet.
It’s my kingdom, sure, but I simply don’t understand the place as well as I should. When did this start? Probably shortly after the public baths were built. I looked around the bath and spotted quite a number of knights relaxing in the water, too—most of whom had a lady assisting him in his relaxing. Massage, mostly, but there were ladies in similar outfits fetching food and drink, too. I wondered if there were side chambers for more intimate activities. Probably so. From my mergers with the mountain, I seemed to recall quite a complex of rooms centered on the baths. Was a training room or gymnasium nearby, too? I think so.
“Would you like one?” Sedrick asked. “They’re very good.”
“No, but thank you. I almost never carry cash.”
“My treat, Sire.”
“No, no—I’d rather stay focused on the matter at hand.”
“Of course.” Sedrick went on to tell me what he learned about Kamshasa, confirming several things T’yl told me. On the upside, he did find Kashmanir, on the eastern edge of Kamshasa. It was ruled by the House of Oloné and bordered a foreign nation, the Kingdom of Kolob.
“The border is not contested, precisely, but certainly well-guarded,” he went on. “I suspect it would be a simple matter for a man to enter Kolob, but it is quite another matter for a man to depart Kamshasa.”
“The one will let you in if the other will only let you out?”
“There you have it.”
“It’s nice to know someone doesn’t like Kamshasa besides me.”
“I think most of the world at least disapproves of it,” Sedrick assured me, stretching out as both ladies started working on his calves.
“Half of it, certainly,” I agreed.
“I regret, however, I have not yet found the place…” he trailed off for a moment, then finished, “…you instructed me to find.”
“It’s okay. I’ll get an address eventually. Just having it narrowed down is a good start.”
“As you say,” he agreed, nodding. “If you have a noblewoman willing to accompany me, I am willing to return. I feel certain a foreign woman will be able to accomplish more than any man, foreign or domesticated.”
“I understand. I’m not sure I have one on hand. I’d send Malana or Malena or both, but they’re Lissette’s personal guards and I don’t want to presume. Tyma, maybe—she’s sharp as they come, but she’s got an axe to grind in preparation for beheading me.” I thought for a bit. “No, I don’t think I have anyone.”
“A pity. Still, a Hero does love a challenge.”
“That reminds me. I wanted to ask you something about Hero-ing.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“What, exactly, do you do?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, I get the idea about you going out and finding something awful and killing it. Righting wrongs, defending the weak, and so on. But what do you actually do? How does it work?”
Sed
rick grinned at me and I noticed he was missing a tooth on the upper left, just behind the canine. I suddenly had the feeling he was a much more dangerous thrill-seeker than I previously believed.
“What I do,” he began, still grinning, “is wander around, listen to rumors, and look for trouble. Sometimes I find it.”
“How often? I mean, is it really a full-time job?”
“I can spend days, even weeks between adventures,” he admitted, and dismissed his masseuses. They looked somewhat pouty, but sloshed up out of the pool and went off to find another customer. “Some troubles are simple, easy to correct. A robber or two, perhaps a bit of theft or rape, and I find the culprit to deal with him.” He shrugged. “The local guardsmen are often more concerned with whether or not the offense was against the local lord or one of the wealthier members of the community. Common folk are less rewarding as victims, but safer.”
“I understand. They also don’t pay well.”
“I have been paid in food and services before. Sometimes with a bit of copper or silver, to boot. And anything I salvage from a robber—not including anything stolen—is mine.”
“Seems fair.”
“Then there are times,” he continued, looking at something far away, “when I find rumor of a challenge worthy of a Hero. One that will be remembered forever in song and story. There isn’t much in the day-to-day of being a Hero, but for those few occasions when you find a real need for one… those are worth all the lesser days.”
“For example?” I prompted.
“Well, you, not to put it too bluntly.” He grinned again. “Or so I thought. Monsters. Magical beasts. Demons. Dragons.” He sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for the opportunity to do battle with a dragon.”
Firebrand started to say something, but bit it back, for which I was duly grateful.
“I do thank you for all your work, Sedrick. And I want you to understand, if you find something you need to do, go ahead. All I ask is if you’re on a mission for me, please report in before you detour to pursue something Hero-worthy.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. Cash customers are hard to come by in this business, and I thank you for your understanding.”
“I thank you for being so helpful to a monster.”
“And a king,” he added, smiling. “You’re not so very monstrous.”
The dog, Tak, made a half-growl, half-bark. We looked where Tak looked and saw a human with a strong elvish cast to his features. T’yl. A pair of men accompanied him, one to either side, and the three of them were dripping wet. They all carried their personal items wrapped in clothing.
“Gentleman, Majesty,” he said, stopping at the edge of the pool. “May we join you?”
“Of course,” I agreed. As they stepped down into the water to find their seats, I introduced Sir Sedrick and T’yl. “I’m afraid I don’t know your companions.”
“These are two Magicians of Arondael. This is Norad and this is Morrelin.”
I think I kept a straight face at the mention of the magician “Norad.” The North American Aerospace Defense Command was something entirely different, but I bet they’d love to have a professional magician on staff. I’ve encountered this a couple of times before. People have names in their language that sound like words in mine. But this threatened to kick giggles out of me. I’m weird, I admit. Norad.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said. They both bowed from the neck, since we were sitting chest-deep in water. “Tell me, do you have any specialties? Anything you’re particularly good at?”
“Most magicians do,” Norad told me. I decided to take it as gospel. If Norad says so…
“Really? Why is that? Having only a moderate education in wizardry, I’m naturally curious.”
“There is too much to study in one lifetime,” he informed me, pulling his long, black hair back from his face to tie it. “Most magicians encounter something to excite their interest in the course of their apprenticeships and they pursue the study of it in their later years.”
“Is that what the Academy does? It has lots of magicians researching their own fields of interest?”
“It’s true, some devote themselves to study for most of their lives. More often, by the time we achieve the rank of Magician, we are more interested in using what we have learned.”
“I’ve never thought of it before,” I admitted. “It does make sense. May I ask your specialty? Or is it an improper question?”
“Not at all improper, Your Majesty. I am a necromancer. Morrelin is a healer.”
“Fascinating. And appropriate, I think, for what we’re trying to do.”
“I’ve been trying to heal the age in people,” Morrelin said. He was hard to describe, being remarkably average. Unremarkable brown hair, faded brown eyes, regular features, the works. I was willing to bet he could be overlooked almost anywhere. Often, it’s a useful ability. “I cannot repair the damage, only offset the symptoms. Elderly people feel less pain, feel stronger, and live longer, but I cannot seem to undo the subtler effects. I’ve been looking at the spell T’yl has for splitting age, transferring it as it happens, but it does not turn back the years, only slows them.”
“Morrelin is modest,” T’yl told me. “He’s already had an idea for a spell to stop aging, at least while the spell is in effect. Give us a few years and some time to work out the enchantment and we’ll be producing amulets to keep you from getting any older.”
“That’s unlikely,” Morrelin protested. “The spells I use likewise slow the effects—” he continued, but Norad laughed at him.
“You say that now, but we’ll do it. Hopefully within our lifetimes. Then we can work on reversing age, rather than temporarily transferring it to some other vessel.” Norad turned to me. “I am terribly eager to see this technique, Your Majesty, of transferring the soul from one body to another. May I presume to ask when would be convenient?”
“Sedrick?” I asked. “We’re going to do a lot of esoteric magic. Do you want to watch?”
“If it is all the same to you, my lord, I need only some food and drink to consider this the perfect place to rest.”
“I’ll have something sent over,” I promised. “Magicians? Shall we repair to the laboratory?”
I didn’t have to ask them twice. Water surged.
I get the feeling they didn’t mind the public bath, but they had other priorities. Can’t say I blame them.
We spent the rest of the day in a virtual reality of my design. It was an illusion, really, drawing on memories of the time I stuffed an elf with T’yl.
Wow. That sounds dirty.
A lot of the illusion was crude, little more than lines and diagrams, with a few bits and pieces in high resolution, drawn from memory instead of imagination. It was really a lot like being inside a three-dimensional, holographic canvas. I drew lines in the air, created shapes, connected bits into diagrams, animated arrows—I wish I’d thought of this sooner. I wish I’d had this when I was teaching freshman physics. There’s nothing quite like a visual aid.
“So, what do you do about the other linkages?” Morrelin asked.
“There are a hundred and eight important ones,” I told him, highlighting them in the diagram of an empty body. “Once these are connected, the rest seem to manage on their own. The big ones are what I think of as vital. If you have one disconnected, it’s going to end badly, kind of like having a major blood vessel cut open. Energy from the spirit ‘bleeds out’ into the environment until the spirit disintegrates. The smaller ones are like a cut in your skin. You put the soul into the flesh, connect it, and the… the ‘minor cuts,’ so to speak, take care of themselves.”
“But you can connect the smaller ones, too?” Norad asked.
“Yes, but there are hundreds or thousands of them. It’s probably not worth the effort to connect them all, but maybe we can come up with something to act like a bandage. It would minimize the losses from the ‘minor cuts,’ so to speak.”
“You went to some effort with
T’yl, did you not?” he pressed.
“Yes, but I also wasn’t sure if it was necessary or not. I didn’t connect them all, remember. He did most of that on his own.”
“I see.”
“What else can I tell you?” I asked.
“I have another question,” Norad replied. “As a necromancer, I see some potential problems. How do we get the soul out of the body? And how do we identify the soul-connections you describe? We do not see spirits in the way you do, of course. I think we may need to. If we cannot see them, how are we to tie them into the… the mounting points you’ve shown us?”
“That’s a very good question,” I agreed, “and I wish I had a good answer for you. Getting the soul out really isn’t an issue, if you think about it. They come loose naturally as the body can no longer contain it. As for the actual transfer… as you say, it’s easy for me; I can see the things. You’re going to need a new spell to observe the actual process.”
“I’m not sure this is a practical method of immortality,” Norad mused. “I do not feel we can comfortably cast a hundred and eight binding spells to connect them to the receptacle body. I am not certain any single magician can cast so many spells quickly enough to avoid dissolution of the subject spirit.”
“Oh! I’m sorry; I don’t think I explained the differences in technique. You probably don’t have to connect all hundred and eight at once,” I told him. “My original problem was getting T’yl out of a crystal, not a living body. He was static, unchanging, possibly even brittle. Anything I changed in there was probably going to break his spirit and kill him. But lifting him out, all in one piece, and putting him in a place where he could operate normally—that was far more complicated than a gradual shifting from one living receptacle to another!
“Think of it this way,” I went on. “If you have a washtub full of water, you can move it from one washtub to another one bucketful at a time. The water, once moved, isn’t hurt. But if one washtub has a sheet of ice over it, how do you move the water and the ice without cracking the ice? It’s a more complicated and difficult maneuver.