"I think I know what those are!" Laabyz exclaimed. "Back on the orbital, my grandson has a toy truck that he brought through stasis with him. It has a driving component that has an almost identical ethereal signature."
The other tech was a spare, older man who had had to have a medic sign off that he was fit enough to endure the physical rigors that the scouts had been expected to endure.
Enael had been pleased, a feeling he had kept entirely to himself, that the older man had not proved an impediment on their march as they followed the advance of the Phaelle'n conquest.
"You are probably right," Nael said. "Small self-contained magic such as that would have had a better chance to survive the cataclysm."
"The only other large concentration of technological devices is in this above ground wing," Erkron said. "Their signature reads like comms, but they are unstable and nearly discharged."
"It makes sense that they would locate their command and control assets in the same chamber with their communications," Laabyz agreed. "Their primitive chain of command gives little discretion to field commanders and the higher echelons would want to stay in direct contact."
"Send us the coordinates," Enael told the techs.
Erkron flicked a finger and two miniscule imps shot between the big sky stone and Enael's and Paei's wrist comms.
"Are you ready?" Enael asked.
Paei gave a quick nod.
"Port in three, two, one!" Enael tapped his bracelet and Paei copied him.
As soon as they had ported into the large, oil lamp lit room, they came under fire.
As planned, both he and Paei stood calmly surveying the room as the projectiles dissipated harmlessly on their common ward. Each scout's bracelet had been specifically tuned to deal with the ethereally nullified lattice cylinders that the monks' hand weapons fired.
The monks' comm techs -- all now diving for cover -- and their devices were stationed at a workbench on the long wall away from the doors. Guards in black studded-leather were near the doors, at the far end, and in a blocking line across the near end. Behind them were others, presumably the upper hierarchy that the two scouts had come to contact. The guards' ceaseless fire was being expended in practiced, well-aimed three-round bursts, not a panicked spray that would have soon discharged the weapons' ethereal store.
Enael used his comm to broadcast his voice. "Greetings brethren of Great Phaelle! We are sorcerers from the moons that you call the Cousins. We have come here today to join you in your quest to restore magic to this world!"
"Stand fast!" a strong, commanding voice called out from behind the guards.
Instantly, all of them holstered their weapons. None looked at ease, however, and all had paired knives and swords that Enael and Paei's ward, as currently configured, would provide no defense against.
A tall, muscular monk shouldered from out behind the line of guards. Save for his lack of armor and the smile upon his lips, he could easily have been one of them.
"I am Archdeacon Traeleon of the Brotherhood of the Great Phaelle."
The self-identified leader of the Phaelle'n then raised a hand and gave one of the benedictions that the monks used. This caused a stir amongst the guards.
"Peace and welcome to you! All who do the Work are our brothers!," the Archdeacon continued. "Come, let us plan the great victory of Magic together!"
THIRTY-EIGHT
Ulor and his marines brought the wounded monks from the east bank on a litters improvised from greatcloaks and unloaded rifles. Six had survived the spell that Waleck had taught Mar in the Great Waste -- a night that was actually, relative to this day, still in future.
"There were twelve bodies, my lord king," the Vice-Captain reported after deploying his marines to crouch, rifles ready, at the sidewalls.
Thus far, the awesome potential of the rifles had not been tested in actual combat; not a single cartridge had yet been discharged at the enemy.
"We saw signs that two escaped to the east along the highway. From the scuffled nature of the tracks, I think one or both must have been wounded. Another set of steady footsteps -- that one came through unscathed or nearly so -- led to the south. Should I send men to track them?"
"No, not now. Three can't cause us much trouble. As we advance, just keep an eye out."
"Aye, my lord king. What shall we do with the wounded Phaelle'n?"
There was a clear implication in Ulor's question.
Placed side by side near the center of the bridge and watched over by Phehlahm and Lymir, the six Black Monks, all burned and bleeding to significant degrees and all but one unconscious, would likely not survive the day. Mar knew that, unlike a number of Princedoms, Mhajhkaei had never routinely administered the mercy stroke to enemies with fatal wounds, but it had been known to happen.
But that was not Ulor's implication.
"Llylquaendt would want them," Mar told the marine.
"I would think so."
"Black Monks wouldn't make easy prisoners."
"No, my lord king."
"Afterwards, I'd have to put them where they couldn't make any trouble."
"They should not be left at the Bunker."
"Maidsear Berhl could find cells for them in Mhajhkaei."
"Aye, my lord king." Ulor smiled as if to say that since the decision was already made, further discussion was unnecessary.
Mar nodded, then delved the wounded men. He made slight adjustments to their bodily flux modulations to make sure that they could survive the journey, including regenerating blood in one blonde bearded fellow that was nearly exsanguinated. A further delve of the remnants of the thick studded-leather armor that they all wore showed that the pieces retained sufficient integrity to act as Vessels. He enchanted the various pieces with appropriate tone-shades of biting-gold. In obedience to a flick of his finger, the more or less motionless monks levitated and formed a tight two by two queue.
"I'll be right back," he told Ulor, then, drawing the queue along, stepped into undertime.
When he returned to the exact place that he had left, only a second had passed for Ulor and the marine officer was still waiting as Mar had left him.
"Send someone to fetch High-Captain Mhiskva, Lord Hhrahld, and Legate Truhsg. Since we have control of the bridge, we're going to advance."
As Ulor called for Feszk to act as a messenger, Mar extended his magical sense to read the background ether all about the bridge. It came as something of a surprise when he detected the approach of a large body of men along the highway to the west.
"Armsmen are coming from the west," he warned Ulor, who immediately turned about to peer in that direction.
After a moment, the Vice-Captain let out a whoop. "Those are the standards of the Defenders!"
It took Mar a moment to process this news. While from Lord Ghorn's perspective it had only been a couple of days since he had ordered him to bring up the First Army, it had literally been years from his and he had not even considered that he must plan for the arrival of the fifteen thousand strong force. He had been thinking only in terms of a swift mobile attack towards Mhevyr with his few riflemen and now he had fifteen full legions to contend with. Moreover, within perhaps another day, the Coirneal Relvhm and the five thousand Khalarii of the Skyships Corps should also arrive, further complicating his plans.
"Send a runner to Commander Tresh. I want him to send up two sections to relieve our positions on the east bank and have the remainder of his legion bivouac on the west bank behind the ridge. He should also make contact with I Corps and provide such assistance as is required. I'll need Prince-Commander Ghorn to come up with his staff as quickly as possible."
Ulor saluted. "Aye, my lord king."
"Wait, forget that. I'll just do it. It'll save time."
He resisted his first impulse to dodge through undertime. While it would have been undeniably faster, he had worked ceaselessly to reach this moment and he wanted to remain in it. He made to fly off and realized with a silent curse that he had le
ft off his brigandine. He had cached it at the palace when it had proved an encumbrance to his various disguises.
When had he last worn it? Had it been before he had recovered Sihmal's corpse? No. After Quaestor Eishtren's thousand year vigil? He could not quite remember. The passage of time and the occurrence of events had become so disconnected in his life that they no longer had any relevance to each other at all.
With a disgruntled noise, he sidestepped into undertime and splashed across a shoal to reach Eishtren's former prison. The place was just the same as the day the quaestor had left it. Of course, in terms of normal time, it had only been days since Eishtren had departed, not nearly the entire year that Mar had experienced.
He had not yet quite decided what was to become of the palace. It was too grand of a dwelling just to relegate to use as a storage closet, which was all that he used it for at the moment.
When he stepped out into the entranceway, another item that had slipped his mind presented itself.
Still munching hay and hobbled to keep him from wandering into the side rooms, Horse swung his neck around and offered him a long expression that clearly said, "What took you so long?"
"It's only been a few hours for you," Mar chided. "I had better take you with me this time, though. I might have trouble making it back to feed you."
He went to the back wall and took his battered brigandine down from a coat hook. He started to dust it off, but then realized that it had only been a day at most in its terms and simply slipped it on and fastened the buckles and straps. Horse's bridle hung on the next hook. He took it down, slipped it on the eager animal, then threw on blanket and saddle in quick succession. He had never been much of a horseman, but he adjusted and tightened the cinch with practiced ease. Horse's tack had begun to seem to flow onto the animal; it had also absorbed flux from its frequent passage through undertime.
He took another few moments to muck out the temporary stable, banishing manure, soiled hay, water trough, and trampled fodder into the heart of undertime. A quick spell similarly dealt with the barnyard aromas and another the dark stains. As his intention was to return Horse here -- at least at some point -- he left the hobbles hanging on a coat hook. When he raised his boot to the stirrup and vaulted onto Horse's saddle, the tiles of the entranceway were as spotless as the day they had been laid.
He did not reach to gather up the reins from where they lay draped on the animal's neck. Horse had learned to unerringly respond to just a simple nudge from his knee. Sometimes it took no more than an unvoiced intention to get the animal going in the right direction.
Lively and clearly ready to go, Horse pranced a bit when Mar was settled. He gestured, and Horse carried him into undertime, ran a bit with his neck stretched, splashing through the shallows with unrestrained glee and jumping to vault the deeper ethereal channels, and then clattered out onto the Sand River bridge, unwinded and still full of desire to run. In obedience to Mar's wishes, however, the animal stopped straightaway.
They came out offset from his original position in order not to jostle Vice-Captain Ulor, but, once again, from the marine officer's perspective, it had to have seemed as if Mar had never left.
"My lord king, you must teach me to summon a horse!" the marine officer proclaimed with a wide grin as Mar stepped down.
"What if I just give you the horse?" Mar asked as he dismounted. He handed Ulor the reins.
The vice-captain took them readily, but looked dubious. "The spell would be useful -- even lucrative -- but a horse wouldn't be of much use to a marine or a rifleman."
Mar shrugged. "Where's Aelwyrd'?"
"With Quaestor Eishtren and High-Captain Mhiskva."
"Put him on Horse and use him to carry messages back and forth to First Army in place of Feszk."
"Aye, my lord king."
Mar quickly infused his brigandine and sailed into the sky. He had a lot to tell Lord Ghorn.
ThIRTY-NINE
Sorting out the order of march of the Imperial forces took the remainder of the day and all the wizardry in the world could not make legions or aristocrats move any faster.
Fortunately, Lord Ghorn was more than capable of dealing with both, but even he could not make legions sprout wings and fly or aristocrats become less obdurate.
By late afternoon, Mar decided that he had put in sufficient appearances before both legions and aristocrats to make everyone understand that Ghorn spoke with the direct authority and full confidence of the Emperor. He left the Prince-Commander, with the equally able assistance of High-Captain Mhiskva, to the frustrating business and flew ahead to scout.
Lhinstord, its people, and the possible Phaelle'n garrison were one of his first matters of concern.
A glamour kept him hidden from view as he sailed over the few devastated leagues to the city, but save for lifeless wreckage he saw no Phaelle'n on the ground and none of their Shrikes in the air. As the glamour would cloud his spyglass lozenge spell, he landed on a knoll a thousand paces from the western gate and dismissed it.
Like all the rest of the terrain around about, the knoll had been swept clean by the ethereal blast. The rise had once boasted a farmhouse or barn but now only the scorched stone foundations remained.
He expected to find the once thriving city in the same condition, but was very much surprised.
The magnifying flux of the lozenge showed the outer curtain wall, a post-imperial addition, intact save for the gatehouse, which the monks had destroyed when they had captured the city. A number of brick and timber buildings of three or four storeys extended above the walls, but these likewise looked untouched. Oddly, he saw no one, neither Phaelle'n nor Lhinstordii, atop the walls or visible along the portion of the imperial highway that he could see through the open gateway.
What had become of the populace and what had preserved the city from the effects of the blast?
Was this another gargantuan task that he must also undertake at some future point?
In spite of all his planning and work, it had not occurred to him until this moment that Lhinstord could be shielded. As powerful as his magic was now, he knew that it was not powerful enough to create a ward of such a size or of such a strength as would be necessary to deflect the blast.
He had had to accept that the Lhinstordii were beyond his ability to help.
But the present condition of the city apparently meant that he might learn how to do so in future.
He had accepted as an unavoidable consequence of wizardry that he would discover things that he had done before he had done them, but he still found these occurrences disconcerting.
And more and more disagreeable.
Troubled, but satisfied that none of the enemy were close, he flew back to the river.
With dawn, the legions of the empire, overflown by the still loaded transports of the Skyship Corps, which had indeed arrived before dusk, moved upon Lhinstord. Anticipating battle, First Army marched in a front five legions abreast. III Corps led the way, with IV Corps and V Corps following in that order. It was an impressive sight, not the least because of the precision with which the massive formation maintained a near perfect square in spite of the rolling terrain.
Mar, with the rifle section close behind, led the way. Another of the privileges of being Emperor that he was happy to exploit was that as supreme commander, he never had to accept a position out of harm's way.
But the army arrived before the walls of the city unchallenged. Any Phaelle'n garrison, it seemed, had withdraw. As soon as the rifle section began to advance along the main avenue and the skyships to circle overhead, the Lhinstordii ventured from their cellars and hiding places. A few even lined the avenue and cheered when the leading ranks of the Defenders bore the standard of the Empire across the city.
This happy appearance permitted Mar to strike that particular concern from his list, but his questions concerning the means of the city's salvation remained unanswered.
Once informed that Lhinstord was, miraculously, still inhabit
ed, Lord Ghorn ordered the detachment of the entirety of V Corps, the legions of the Mercantile League, to hold the city. Those legionnaires were disciplined and well trained, the Prince-Commander had informed Mar, but the combat effectiveness of the full corps was doubtful as a consequence of the still unresolved rivalries of the individual legion's commanders.
The dawn of Twelfthday found the remaining two corps of First Army and the landed Skyship Corps in a huge cantonment a league beyond Lhinstord. The in excess of fifteen thousand legionnaires had excavated a defensive ditch and embankment in only two hours. The more or less level area had been fields of various sorts separated by stone walls, but most of the walls had tumbled and all of the crops flattened. Aside from that disarray, however, the location was far enough from the Sand River that the earth was not scorched or seared as it had been west of the city.
Flying high above the bivouac, Mar did the obvious calculation. It was a little less than a hundred leagues, more or less, to Mhevyr. Legionnaires could make ten leagues a day from breaking of camp to making of camp in good weather on decent roads, and that had to be considered the top speed of the First Army. At best, it would take ten days for Lord Ghorn and his men to reach the Phaelle'n stronghold.
That ten days would surely give the Brotherhood of Phaelle time to reinforce, recover, and improve their defenses. It went without saying that a ten day trek had not been a part of his original plan.
The transports of Coirneal Relvhm's Skyship Corps, Nlarlt, Emperor Rwalkahn, Pju, Khas'thga, and Emperor's Justice, could, even towing their numerous barges, make that same ten leagues in under two hours and thus could reach Mhevyr in a single day.
If he loaded the rifle section aboard one of the transports, he could drive ahead and likely catch the monks unprepared.
But if he left the First Army to advance at its own pace, he would also be leaving it without magical protection, both his spells and the rifles.
Thief (The Key to Magic Book 7) Page 21