He had taken a month, in minutes and hours stolen from other tasks, to learn a passable C'men, the language of the Aehrfhaenii, and when he addressed the tall ceannaire, he felt reasonably assured that he would be understood.
"I would like to speak with the Architect Captain please."
Peering over his remarkably expansive black beard, the ceannaire looked Mar up and down. The cut and fabric of Mar's outfit were expensive, but not overtly ostentatious. His boots were even more so.
"My pardon, sir, but did you have an appointment?" The sub-officer's tone held just the proper shade of respect, should Mar prove to be someone that mattered -- that is, someone with money.
"No, but I am sure that an immediate introduction can be arranged."
"Only the Chief Functionary of the Planning Council can do that, sir, and his ear is difficult to acquire."
Mar nodded and took a small drawstring purse from the first satchel. "Perhaps I could persuade you to intercede on my behalf?"
The ceannaire's eyes measured the purse. "I could introduce you to the secretary of the Registrar, sir, but I could make no promises after that."
Mar displayed a false smile. "That would be fine."
He had to pay only six more modest bribes to finally reach the office of the Architect Captain, a short, balding man named Jhe who had the look of a workman who had spent the majority of his life outside.
With patterned marble tile, hand rubbed oak paneling, gold-plated sconces, and ivory inlaid trim, the cozy room had clearly been designed as a showcase of the talents of the tradesmen of the guild.
Jhe waved him in with a professional smile. "Welcome, Master Alrin. Merin has told me that you have a building project? Please have a seat."
Mar ignored the upholstered chairs in front of Jhe's bed-sized desk. He had no intention of wasting any time at all on pleasantries. He moved up to the desk, put the satchels upon it, opened one, and began take out sacks of Aehrfhaenii'n gold coins of the highest denomination. Each sack had the equivalent of one thousand Imperial thalars. He stopped at ten.
Jhe stood by silently until Mar had finished and clearly noted that the satchel was not nearly empty. Then he smiled and asked, "May I presume that you have plans for some glorious civic monument? A triumphal arch, perhaps?"
"No, a palace."
Smile broadening, Jhe walked around to his more than luxurious chair, sat, and slid paper and stylus in front of him. "Your accent, is it Hralbaenarii? Your site is here in Lhorvhavhen or in the countryside? You do understand that there will be additional fees to cover the transport and sustenance of our guild brothers if the site is any considerable distance outside the limits of the city?"
"I may not reveal the location of the building site, but I can say that it is not within the city. I am authorized to pay any surcharges that are required to insure the utmost discretion. I will, however, be making all of the arrangements for the transport and supply of the workers."
Jhe put down his stylus, leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. "We do not normally undertake clandestine projects such as you imply this must be. I could not know, of course, but my speculation would be that this project would involve extraordinary risk to the wellbeing of our guild members."
Mar nodded and began to take more sacks from the satchel.
Jhe did not move. "Were we to agree to any such endeavor, we would require full supervision by our own architects and prior approval of all menus, lodging, and work shifts."
Mar continued to place sacks.
"Any craftsman that fell ill or became desirous of ending his employment for any reason would have to be immediately returned to Lhorvhavhen at your expense."
Mar set aside the first satchel and opened the second.
Jhe sighed in surrender and retrieved his stylus to prepare to make notes. "How many men would you need?"
When the contract had been sighed and handshakes and professionally sincere smiles exchanged, Mar departed the guildhall and rode at a canter out of the city.
In this era, Lhorvhavhen was a growing metropolis and he had to ride two thirds of a league beyond the gates to get clear of the exurban sprawl. In the cover of a convenient copse of young oak trees, he passed into undertime. Once again blinded to the worst of the tumult, Horse endured this passage with only a disgruntled whinny. He walked the animal through another portal and into the central great room of Eishtren's unfinished palace, quickly hobbled it in near its stacked hay bales and water trough, then hurried to the Bunker.
In order to make sure that this meeting did not intersect with one of his earlier consultations with the old man and also to make sure that the ancient sorcerer was awake, he paused a moment in the shallows to observe Waleck's cell.
Standing at the center of his day room, Waleck was, for lack of a better word, dancing. The odd routine was a rhythmic, repeated process of directed gestures, bending, stepping, and squatting.
Not stopping, the old man brightened when he saw Mar appear. "Welcome back! Give me a moment to finish this sequence."
All of his movements slow and controlled, the old man swept both palms to the left, came back to center with arms down, then bowed to the front.
In response to Mar's curious look, he explained, "This is ... oh, I don't remember what it is called. I learned it from a group of accommodating ascetics on a mountain during the second century of the Empire. I wonder what became of their community? It keeps the joints limber and clears the mind. I have started practicing every morning. Now, what can I help you with this time?"
Feeling the press of time, Mar got right to the point. "I wish to create a real time passageway through undertime with one end fixed in one time and the opposite end fixed in another. I have devised a flux modulation that will accomplish this, a spiral moaning gold with a rhythmic corkscrew purple, but when I test it, the interior of the passage is filled with blinding light and unbearable shrieking sound."
The old man looked thoughtful. "My knowledge from nhBreen tells me little of wizardry, but I think that nothing such as you describe was ever accomplished in the ancient age. What is the nature of the flux inside the passage?"
"It surges back and forth."
"Is it most like a tide or a current? That is, is there a transfer of flux from one part of the passage to another?"
"No, it's more like a tide, but not as regular. It just rushes one way, then rushes back."
"Does any of the flux exit the passage?"
"No and no additional flux is generated after the passage takes shape."
"Hmmm, I believe the sound and light to be a product of -- let's see, what would be the words in Standard? Uhm, I think cyclical oscillation, though those two terms might be disused today, would be the closest. Do you understand the concept?"
Mar nodded. Imperial scholars during the eighth century had been given to such dense phrases and he had stolen, read, and on occasion burned for warmth quite a number of their monographs.
"I suspect that the dissimilar natural flux states that exist outside each anchor point of your passage are inducing the oscillations within the confined Vessel of the passage, but that should only be considered a theory and I unfortunately know of no method or technique that might dampen those oscillations without disrupting the modulations that create the passage."
Mar thought a moment. "I intend to disguise the passage with glamours. Would that not cover the light and sound?"
"To some extent, though the interaction of the flux oscillations might disrupt the simple structure of the glamour. From what you have told me, it appears that your intent is to create an illusion or a guise."
"What do you mean?"
"These are much higher orders of spells. Think of them as a glamour multiplied by a glamour to ten iterations. Both are similar, but in the ancient parlance a clear distinction was made between them. An illusion is an interconnected web of spells that present the semblance of an altered or manufactured reality. A guise is an unaltered reflection of an existi
ng reality that is generally displayed in another location."
"Tell me more."
"Both an illusion and a guise must have all the components of the reality that they reproduce. They must present not only the visual and the audible but also the physical aspects -- things that might be experienced by the other three natural senses such as expected natural movement, weather conditions including ambient temperature and precipitation, physical shape, size, and weight of objects, and so on. Not only must the illusion or guise look and sound like the original reality, but it must also feel, smell, and taste like the original. A perfect illusion or guise -- which to my knowledge has never been achieved -- would be indistinguishable from the reality that it mimics."
"So I must construct a web of glamours?"
"Well, to be precise, the definition of the term glamour has drifted into a generic catch all in this present age. In the age of magic, it was used specifically to refer to spells that dealt with light or images. A spell that deals with sound is an intonation and a spell that deals with the physical aspects is an allure."
"But they are all similar in ethereal structure?"
"In basic terms, yes. But --"
"Thanks. I'll work on it."
Waleck inclined his head. "Once again, I am happy to be of service."
FIFTEEN
Mar spent most of a summer in a glade on an uninhabited island in the Archipelago learning to cast intricate illusions and guises that were robust enough to withstand the ethereal rigors of his undertime corridor.
Creating sound-colors and weaving them into the patterns necessary to generate and shape light and sound was something that he could now do with scarcely any effort, but discovering the exact interplay of flux modulations that would reflect every nuance of an actual scene required miniscule adjustments that were often only minutely precise tweaks of single note-shades. Oft times, the results of his experiments proved nigh perfect, with just a few flaws or even but a single oddity, but these faults were, at least to his eyes, always glaringly obvious, compelling him to erase all progress to begin anew.
At last, though, he did achieve spells that could mirror his chosen reality to his satisfaction, with only perhaps a stray glint of light reflected in a different way from a solitary water washed stone to expose the deception.
Had he worked with more diligence, he might have accomplished the chore in a month or so, but, feeling the need, he took his time, sleeping late in various inns, taking unhurried walks through the forest surrounding the glade, and eating well in cities all over the world.
When he returned to the notch, he checked on Horse, found him still contentedly munching hay -- it had only been half an hour for him, after all -- then began to weave illusions. After two hours, he contemplated his handiwork.
Rather than disguise a feature or two, he had changed everything. The inhospitable mountain and its slopes, the stark cliffs, the bleak sea, the forbidding swamp, and even the perennially grey sky were all now concealed. To every outward appearance save the ethereal, the notch now nestled on an altogether different and much lower mountain that actually existed on the other side of the world and in a much separated century. An unrelated but seamlessly blended thickly forested valley circled around it and unimpressive hills from a dozen different locales occupied the horizon in all directions. In order to reduce possible temptation, no human habitation or interesting landmark was within sight.
Anyone who might chance to wander down on any side towards the nonexistent valley would trigger and be drawn into an illusion shrouded undertime pocket that would prevent them from actually moving in space while showing them a reflection of all that they might actually have experienced had they strolled down the real gentle, wooded slope -- the smells of the trees and flowers, the wind , the rake of briars, the snap of branches underfoot, the serenades of songbirds, and the occasional call of other wildlife. A linked illusion would relay to any observer situated at the hollowed rooms of the palace a view of the wanderer moving away through the trees. After half a league of imaginary progress, any wanderer would be gradually redirected into the undertime access corridor, which he had given the guise of a long, winding dirt road, and seamlessly returned to an isolated hill pass in fourteenth century Aehrfhaen. If they so desired, that wanderer could then return to the site by the same magic.
He rigorously tested the illusions at numerous points, was unable to detect any defect with his normal senses, and decided that the task was complete. A magician or witch would surely be able to sense the chaotic presence of the powerful spells in the background ether, but he felt confident that the likelihood of such being amongst the building crew was small enough to be discounted.
Satisfied, he stepped through undertime to an evening at the Bunker and sought out Legate Truhsg. The officer was in the armsmen's common room reading in a comfortable chair and he instantly laid aside his book and stood to salute as soon as Mar walked through the door. Half a dozen others, marines and legionnaires, likewise discarded their dice, cards, or books and rose to their feet.
"Legate, have you been to Aehrfhaen yet?" Mar asked straightaway. He had not bothered to precisely pinpoint the moment and Truhsg looked as if he had expected to see him.
"Yes, my lord king. You instructed me not to discuss that with you when you appeared today other than to say that it was last Fourthday."
"Right, carry on then." He spun about immediately and moved to the previous Fourthday. Once again, he found the legate reading in the same chair and once again Truhsg rose to salute.
"Legate, I'll need you and nine men to come with me. These should all be veterans, be able to handle horse teams with decent skill, and know how to keep their mouths shut."
"Yes, my lord king. I'll have them assembled here in ten minutes."
"Make it thirty. It's easier to navigate to. I'll be back." Mar stepped half an hour ahead.
Truhsg and his nine were waiting. Somewhat to Mar's dismay, all were in full battle kit -- armor, shields, swords, and packs -- and he realized that he should have specified how they should prepare. Rather than try to correct this mistake immediately, he told the armsmen to assemble in a tight rank without explanation and wrapped a portal around them. The passage to the notch was not instantaneous, but Mar shifted the group across undertime with such speed that the traverse could have been lost in a single eye blink.
Truhsg and the marines and legionnaires had all seen too much magic to react adversely to the sudden change. As if shoved out the door a skyship onto an unfamiliar battlefield, the armsmen shifted straightaway to form a closed circle about Mar and began to swing their heads about as they scanned the surrounding illusory terrain for danger.
"Should we begin to prepare a static defense here, my lord king?" Truhsg inquired in a matter of fact way.
"No, I'm sorry, Legate. I should have been more specific. The first thing that we need to do is set up a work camp for about fifty men. When that's done, we'll bring the masons and carpenters here by wagon. Then I need you and your armsmen to provide supervision and security while the palace is completed."
Truhsg raised his eyebrows. "Palace, my lord king?"
Mar gestured at the dark holes in the mountain. "On the inside, at least."
The legate nodded. "It'll be quiet here."
"Yes," Mar agreed. "It will be that."
It took a couple of days of his time and two hours of Truhsg and the armsmen's time to bounce around to steal enough appropriately sized Aehrfhaenii'n garments for all of the marines and legionnaires. It took another two days of his and their time to locate, purchase, and transport the ten wagons and teams. Purchasing, transporting, and storing sufficient foodstuffs, bunks, tents, tarps, and assorted domestic paraphernalia to last his expected crew for two months took yet another four precious days. Another half a fortnight was consumed by acquiring a considerable stock of lumber, stone, brick, mortar, sand, nails, and sundry construction materials.
When all was ready, Truhsg and his armsme
n turned teamsters drove their wagons down the undertime access corridor. For the sake of verisimilitude and to familiarize themselves with the route that Mar had chosen, the Legate and his armsmen would actually travel along the contemporary trails and roads of Aehrfhaen to reach the guildhall at Lhorvhavhen.
When the last wagon had exited, Mar rushed to hide the corridor entrance in a fold of undertime. Then, struck by a thought, rather than lead Horse once more through undertime, he mounted and urged the animal forward into the unseeable portal.
Horse trotted from the natural world into the ethereal without a twitch and continued to trot with complacent ease, its hooves splashing through the shallows, as Mar guided him upstream. After a relative moment, Horse seemed to become impatient at their slow pace, stretching his neck against Mar's tight rein. He clearly wanted to run. On a whim, Mar let the reins go slack. Muscles bunching, Horse sprang forward in evident glee. They crossed the fortnight spit of undertime at a gallop and emerged at the sheltered copse just as the Mhajhkaeirii and the train of wagons came up the road alongside it.
The legate and his men looked none the worse for wear from their trek, though all had let their beards grow out to mirror the Aehrfhaen practice.
"That must be quite convenient, my lord king," Truhsg offered in a jovial tone as Mar directed Horse alongside the lead wagon.
Thief (The Key to Magic Book 7) Page 7