by Greg Curtis
The Hold, as the locals called it, was also a dirty city. For some reason the heavy industries were inside the walls, crammed in with everything else, instead of a suitable distance away from where people lived and breathed. So the sawmills and stone cutters – the foundries and factories – all jostled for space with the houses, markets and stores. And the smoke from the steam engines and the fires floated above the city while the soot settled everywhere. It even settled on your clothes. Maybe that was why so many of the people wore dark coloured clothing? It hid the dirt. Noisy, dirty, crowded and smelly; she wouldn't want to live here for the rest of her days.
But at least it didn't smell of human waste. The sewer system appeared to be in good order as the underground rivers washed everything away. Parts of Styrion Might hadn't been so well served from what she recalled – though that might have been due in part to the battle and the dead bodies everywhere.
Now of course, the Capitol no longer existed. And this city might well become the new one.
Twenty minutes brought her in sight of the Temple. It was impressive, she thought. Much more so than its priests who she thought little of. That huge gabled roof with its spires was an imposing structure and the sight dominated the nearby city blocks. Styrion Hold didn't have a castle at its heart to become the centrepiece of the city, but the Temple of the Benevolent One could almost fill that role.
Marnie hurried along the street, heading for the entrance at the front and wondered why she'd been called. Especially when she drew closer and could see several, elegant looking coaches parked up alongside the front border of the gardens, their drivers waiting for the owners to return. They were the type of coaches in which the passengers sat inside comfortable compartments and looked out at the common people from their leather couches, while the drivers sat outside in the rain and the cold. It seemed that some of the nobility had come to call.
She quickly reached the entrance to the front garden, walked under the arch formed by a pair of carefully pruned golden willows, and then went up the garden path to the Temple's front doors and stepped inside. Then she hurried through the entrance hall and along the centre aisle to the front, turned and headed through the side door to the west garden where they held their ceremonies. Then she stopped. She had expected to find Tyrollan and their visitors there and was surprised when she found that they weren’t. The garden was empty save for a few of her people stretched out on the benches enjoying the sun, and some children placed on gardening duty.
Marnie ducked back inside the Temple and headed across past the fountain to the other side and the door leading to the east garden. There she had more luck. No sooner had she stepped outside then she spotted Tyrollan, sitting down on some garden chairs set out around a stone table. Three nobles were seated opposite him while a couple of soldiers in full dress uniform stood behind them. She could also see a couple of the priests looking on from one side.
Marnie hurried toward the waiting group, feeling a knot growing in her stomach with every step. Whatever this was it looked serious.
“Marnie!” Tyrollan greeted her with a tired smile on his face. “These are Lords Dumas, Fennig and Rand, and General Hart and his aide.” He named the others one by one. “The Hearth has been attacked.”
“Styrion Hearth?” Marnie was surprised. Why would anyone attack the Hearth? It was a city in size at least – but it wasn't of any great strategic value as far as she knew. No armies were based there. It had no walls and no fortifications. It had no resources apart from the huge grass plains surrounding it on which the city's animals grazed. In truth, it was more a giant village that had grown and spread over the centuries, covering the plains, before a central hub formed into a city. Worryingly though it was barely twenty leagues north west from them and as far north east from Styrion Might as Styrion Hold was due east from it. Surely that wasn't a coincidence. The beast was obviously sending out his servants to attack the cities ringing his home.
Tyrollan nodded. “A day ago. Three of the creatures attacked. Hundreds were killed – that shriek it turns out, can kill. Thousands more were injured, the people deafened and their minds broken. After that the creatures flew off, unharmed.”
“A strange attack.”
“A terror attack meant to inspire fear in the people.” The General interrupted. “The beast has only a few of these … ghost dragons. Not enough to destroy the cities. But that shriek of theirs is enough to kill and maim thousands, and to terrify the rest and send them running. Clearly he seeks to empty out the cities surrounding Styrion Might and build himself a region where no one may live.”
“And?” Marnie fairly much agreed with the General's thoughts. They made sense to her. But what could it matter to them?
“And we need to stop him.”
When he said that Marnie finally understood why he was there. The only way to stop the servants that they'd found so far, was with magic. He had come to ask for their help. And they would have to provide him with that help as per the bargain they'd made. As Hendrick had said, why would the King support them and their plans if he didn't get something in return?
“We're not strong enough yet.” Marnie knew that the General wouldn't like to hear that. But she also knew it was the truth. They weren't ready.
“That's not good enough Miss Holdwright,” the General replied.
He too addressed her as 'Miss', she noticed. He like the others was treating her with some level of respect. Why? Just desperation? Or was there something else at work? Could there perhaps be a tiny sliver of understanding appearing that the afflicted were no plague ridden people to be shunned like lepers? She didn't know, but maybe, she hoped. On the other hand it probably was just desperation. She feared his manners might vanish quite quickly when she denied the General his demands – as she had to.
“I'm sorry, but it has to be General. We can't do anything about it. Not yet. It's just a matter of numbers. Maybe one in ten of all the spells we acquire is a useful warspell. And of those, maybe a fifth would be of any use against these creatures. Whatever they are, these servants of the beast are incredibly tough. We've been here in the Hold not quite three weeks, and at the start there were only twenty seven of us who were willing to go through the ceremony. We each took either two or three spells that first time. Unfortunately I don't think any of us during that round acquired a spell that would hurt the behemoth's servants.”
“Since then more of us have been arriving, but still it's slow. Each ceremony for the last few days has had around twenty people attending, each of whom who has acquired two spells – all that we can be sure is safe at this point. After receiving the spells they generally sleep for about two days. Once they awaken then then need to learn what spells they’ve absorbed and then practice with them for about three days while they wait for the spells to properly embed. At that rate I expect it will take at least five ceremonies or twenty five days, for each new person to eventually acquire a useful warspell. At present we have maybe three spells among us that can be used against the creatures.”
“Hendrick has his spectral beasts. Kylen has his silver shears. And Dara has her spell of detonation – and it hasn't been tested against them yet. That's three people, all of them who are vulnerable to the creatures' shrieks, and so on their own would probably not be strong enough to face them. And then there's the other question – where do we send them? There are twelve cities that ring Styrion Might. And what about the towns and villages?”
“General if you want more of us who can fight, you need to get more people to come here and more fragments of the magic metals sent our way. But even then I expect it will still take months. And most won't come.”
And what did he expect, she thought? The afflicted had been forced into difficult lives, where they were shunned simply for having magic. They tried mostly to remain unnoticed. It had been that way for millennia. And now riders were coming to their towns and villages asking for their help by acquiring new spells? Spells that would guarantee that they would
eventually be despised even more greatly than was currently the case. Naturally they were going to say no. Especially when they understood they might then be expected to go into battle. Those who had come were surely less than one in a hundred of those who had been asked.
“And how do we do that?”
“Time and stynes,” she told him simply. “You should also make it clear that the offer of a wage for accepting a spell is open to those who aren't afflicted as well as to those who are.” Of course, she knew that wasn't going to be popular as proven by the way the general's mouth fell open in shock.
If fewer than one in a hundred of those who were already afflicted were going to accept further magic, the numbers of those who weren't afflicted suddenly accepting a spell had to be far less. And their visitors knew it. She watched the faces of the lords and saw the shock and revulsion suddenly appear on them as they understood what she was suggesting. They were all quick to conceal it but not quick enough. Certainly none of them would ever volunteer. They didn't even want to be near her or Tyrollan.
There was a long silence and then Tyrollan spoke. “As a gesture of good faith you should also start removing some of the strictures that have been placed on us as Lady Marda promised Prince Hendrick. Those who are afflicted currently can't hold positions of authority or enter the town and city halls. They also can't charge for their magical services. I think it's time for that to change. Don't you?” Tyrollan finally spoke up, and everyone turned to him.
“All we've heard so far are promises. When our people hear the actual decrees, they'll start to feel more welcome in the towns and cities. More of them will be willing to absorb further spells – in time. But it will be slow. After all most of them still believe their gifts are an affliction. And why would someone want to become more afflicted?”
“First, the King could start with the right to charge for our services. And not to be simply forced to give them for free whenever someone in authority demands them. When word of that spreads more of our people will be willing to learn new spells.”
“But –.” Lord Fennig started to object and then stopped hurriedly as he realised he had no choice in the matter. It wasn't his decision to make. It was the King's. “We'll suggest it to King Oster,” he finally conceded in a reluctant mumble. And by the downcast look that unexpectedly appeared on his face, the Lord suspected the King would agree to it. None of them had any real choice in the matter.
Power! This was power! Marnie stared at the look of resignation in Lord Fenning’s eyes, and suddenly realised that Tyrollan had just given a lord his orders. That she was sure had never happened before. Lords didn't bow to anyone save the King, and even that according to gossip, was done reluctantly. And the idea of one of the afflicted telling someone what to do was unheard of. And yet suddenly they had the power to instruct the nobility? She would never have imagined that happening.
It made Marnie wonder just what else they could demand. Could they make the worship of Ri Altenne an accepted faith within the realm? Or build the magic city of Altanis? Create Hendrick's promised guild? These people were desperate. Who knew what they might agree to?
Still, she put such thoughts away when she saw Tyrollan thanking the Lord for his understanding. This was politics in action, and Hendrick had cautioned them both some time ago against asking for too much. He'd said that the more they asked for, the more would be held against them when this crisis was over. Small concessions were what they should ask for. Things that could be seen as simply addressing wrongs done to their people. Things that would not be dropped once when this crisis was behind them, because it would look churlish.
The Prince was a craven oaf with no ambition and a pure muck-spout, but he was also sometimes quite clever she decided. Not that she would ever tell him that.
Then again, was she any bolder? She had to ask herself that as she found herself following Tyrollan’s example and thanking the lords for their help. As if they were finally doing something right out of any motivation other than desperation! But even though it sickened her, she told herself it was for the best. That it would persuade them that the afflicted were simply normal people who had suffered too much for no reason. That by lifting the strictures placed on them they were simply fixing a wrong.
It seemed that she was a muck-spout too.
“For the moment General,” she returned to the important part of the conversation. Or the part of it that concerned them anyway. “We can continue to protect the Hold. In time, once more useful spells are acquired, we can start sending out more small parties to protect the other cities. More of our people may be able to help with the war in other ways. Communications, transport, intelligence and so forth.”
“Ask us for what you need and we will see how we can help.”
Oh yes, she decided as she played the game as Hendrick would have wanted – she was truly a muck-spout! But if it helped her achieve her dream of a reborn city of wizards she would spout all the muck there was for as long as she had to.
Chapter Nineteen
Hendrick didn't like this world he decided. It was too hot, it smelled and the bird song sounded like a mix of frogs croaking hoarsely and metal screeching as it scraped against other metal. He also hated that he had to work so hard to reach his destination. This was a jungle world, and it simply refused to let him through.
It was hard work chopping his way through the bush to get to the temple. Even the blade he'd shaped with a spell wasn't a perfect answer. It was a blade of dimension, and it didn't actually cut things so much as sever them as it divided the space that contained them in two. The effect was the same though. Things fell apart. And the blade itself, which extended from his hand had no weight, and encountered no resistance. It would slice through diamond as easily as air. But chopping bushes and small trees into pieces didn't make them disappear and he still had to pull the debris clear and throw it to one side to take each next step. There was a reason he was sweating and breathing heavily.
Still, he had finally made it through the jungle and was now climbing the steps leading up to the temple. He was grateful for that. Even though the steps were overgrown the amount of scrub and bush he had to cut his way through decreased and he could simply push the cuttings off the side.
By the time he reached the top of the steps and was standing on the landing about forty yards above the ground, most of what was left to cut away was simply vines and creepers. Things that had somehow clawed their way into the stone and grown. How long, he wondered, did it take for creepers to take root in stone? How many thousands of years? Foolishly he asked.
“Depends on the creeper and the stone of course,” Val told him impatiently. “Now, are we ready to move on?”
Hendrick sighed but held his tongue. The sage was no use at all – unless snapping at him like an angry sot was useful. But when Val had told him about the stories of the ancient temple, he'd also insisted that Hendrick bring him.
Its work done Hendrick let the spell of the dimensional blade go – with such a weapon there was too great a chance that he might cut his own leg off by mistake – and then stood there recovering. He needed to. But as he looked back at the path he had cut through the jungle to get to this temple and then up the stairs, he thought he had good reason to be tired. The trail he had cut from the section of bare rock he'd arrived on to the landing he was standing on, was like a scar running right through the jungle. Who would have thought that a few hundred yards of walking could require such effort? Or that an entire world could be covered in jungle with just a few bare patches of stone?
It would have been better if he could have simply arrived inside the temple, but his spell of world walking had limitations. And one of the main ones was that he could only step between parts of worlds which matched up. So to reach this place he'd first had to travel twenty leagues from Styrion Hold to reach the part of his world that corresponded to it, and then discovered that if he had tried to step through from there, he would have arrived twenty or thirty feet u
nderground. In Styrion the part of the world where the temple stood was a shallow valley. So he'd had to leave from a higher piece of ground.
Once he'd caught his breath, Hendrick walked up to the towering circular wall that was the outside of the temple, and stepped through the giant archway leading to the interior.
The temple wasn't much of a temple Hendrick thought as he finally got a chance to look at it closely. – though at least there wasn't any more bush needing to be chopped inside it. There was only stone. But then again, it might not be a temple at all he thought. It looked more like an amphitheatre. Because the massive circular flat section in the heart of it reminded him of a stage. Or perhaps it was an arena where the ancient people of this world had fought one another to the death?
Whatever it was, it was huge. Far larger than any building he had ever seen. From where he stood atop a circular landing of stone, some forty yards above the ground, he could see a long aisle leading down at least a hundred yards between the rings of seats to the centre stage. Behind him a circular stone wall towered at least twenty yards above him and three or four hundred yards across.