Key to Magic 02 Magician

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  Thinking no good would come of it, Mar nevertheless said, “Alright, but you need to turn around.”

  Telriy laughed softly. “Prude,” she chided, but swung about so that she faced the other side of the bed.

  Mar quickly stripped off his damp clothing and his boots, retaining his smallclothes for decency’s sake, and wrapped the comforter about his waist. Suddenly weary, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

  Telriy hopped up when she felt him sit, rounded the carved footboard and gathered up his clothes. After draping them over her single chair, she ran quietly back to the bed and began to arrange her remaining bedclothes. Finally, fluffing her pillow, she burrowed beneath the covers.

  “You’re going to sleep? I thought we were going to talk.”

  “We are, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

  Mar laughed softly.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing.” It had been a long day, an incredibly long and arduous day, and he himself was bone tired.

  A peal of thunder echoed through the room, forestalling the conversation for a moment.

  “What happened to you after the barge?” Telriy asked him drowsily when it had grown quiet again.

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

  “You first,” she countered.

  Mar frowned and then shrugged. “The Phaelle’n threw me overboard – thinking I would drown, I suppose – and I washed up on a sandbar. The next day I made my way to Mhajhkaei.”

  Telriy yawned. “Seems like you left some things out.”

  “Nothing important.”

  “Right.” She yawned again, longer this time. “Well, how does a thief learn to fly?”

  "How did you know?"

  "That you’re a thief?” Telriy asked softly, her eyes drooping.

  “Yes.”

  “Uhm, Waleck told me . . .” The girl’s voice trailed off, fading.

  Mar waited, then leaned in to peer at her face. Inwardly cursing, he sat back. She had fallen asleep. He debated with himself for a moment, then reached over and gently shook her shoulder.

  The girl’s eyes fluttered open. “Hmmm?”

  “Can you stay awake?”

  “Uhmmmm . . . no.” Telriy’s eyes closed again. “Come back in the morning . . .”

  Mar released his breath in a drawn out sigh, letting his edginess drain away. Nothing would be gained from trying to rouse her a second time. If angered, she might refuse to speak at all and he seemed left with no choice but to try to reach her room again in the morning. Or else camp in her chair and wait for daylight? The longer he thought about it, the more he favored the second option. Traversing the tower in the dark and wet would be dangerously difficult and he was determined to use the interior passages only as a last resort.

  He considered his clothes, knowing they would still be damp. The night had cooled but he was warm and dry in the comforter, and he found himself intensely reluctant to shed it. If he did not allow his clothing to dry completely before he climbed back into it, he knew he would pass the night in cold sleepless misery. There would be no harm, surely, in taking his ease on the bed for a few hours. After a moment’s hesitation, he stretched out beside Telriy, careful not to disturb her. Taking a long slow breath, he allowed himself to relax.

  Sometime later, he drifted off to asleep.

  FIFTEEN

  3197 Before the Founding of the Empire – Event +64 cycles

  A micro-cycle before it experienced destruction, THIRTEENTH REDUNDANT SYSTEM MONITOR NODE analyzed the current data and automatically fired a delayed command pulse into undertime. This was the final option in ThirRedSysMonNode’s error trapping routine.

  The command pulse reverberated in undertime until its inbuilt delay of one billion cycles expired and then emerged to execute its single key sequence.

  AWAKE.

  FINAL BACKUP SYSTEM MONITOR NODE surged from passive storage mode.

  STARTUP PROTOCOL: Query status.

  GLOBAL SYSTEM CONTROL: No response.

  GLOBAL SYSTEM MONITOR: No response.

  SYSTEM STATUS: No response.

  SYSTEM CENSUS: No response.

  FinBacSysMonNode consulted its limited programming. Assumptions had been made that its activation would indicate complete failure of all redundant system monitor nodes and ancillaries, so no query need be generated for those systems.

  SECOND PROTOCOL: Query Host Status.

  01: CEREBRA: Massive Damage – Potentiality: Fatal.

  02: CARDIAC: Failure Imminent – Potentiality: Fatal.

  03: PULMONARY: Failure Imminent – Potentiality: Fatal.

  04: …

  The remainder of the thirty-seven host queries reported either MD or FI, all with PF.

  FinBacSysMonNode consulted its programming once again.

  THIRD PROTOCOL: Preserve Host.

  FBSMN marshaled resources, discovering that only the limited number of micro-flux sprites that constituted its own node responded to direction. Distributing major portions of these sprites to preserve host functions would severely diminish its capacity.

  THIRD PROTOCOL OPTION 01: Query Resource Allocation Status: Resources not currently available.

  THIRD PROTOCOL OPTION 02: Calculate sprite construction rate on basis: Resources not currently available.

  The calculation resulted in a register overflow and was ignored.

  THIRD PROTOCOL ROUTINE 07: Execute self-cannibalization.

  FinBacSysMonNode began stripping sprites from its node and dispatching them to host function sites determined by a pre-established priority list. Sufficient sprites were not available to protect all host functions nor to bring any host functions to optimal condition.

  Within micro-cycles, FinBacSysMonNode ceased to exist, leaving behind only two tiny independent routines. One would supervise sprite construction when resources became available. The other was a self-replicating seed that would re-establish FinBacSysMonNode when surplus sprites became available.

  SIXTEEN

  The first light of dawn seeped around the shutters and woke Mar. He blinked his eyes, remembering where he was, and thought to sit up.

  Feeling his slight movement, Telriy muttered inarticulately and snuggled closer.

  “Uh, what?” he asked.

  She tilted her head up from his shoulder and looked placidly into his eyes. With a pleased little smile, she extracted her arm from around his waist and brushed her hair back from her face. “I said, what are you doing in my bed?”

  Before he could fabricate a suitable answer, she continued, “And what happened to your nose?”

  Mar flinched slightly as she tilted his face to one side. His nose was still tender.

  “The Phaelle’n broke it on the barge.”

  Telriy stroked his cheek comfortingly. “Does it hurt much? It looks awful.”

  “How did you know I was a thief?” he interjected, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

  Telriy rolled her eyes at him, pushed the coverlet back and scooted away, leaving his chest bared to the crisp morning air. She stretched with both arms, hands bent back at the wrists and the tent-like gown tightening on her slender shape, then leaned back on one elbow to regard him.

  “Aside from you sneaking in here through the window, you mean? I’ve suspected since that time we hid in Khalar. My grandmother told me that – well, various other reasons led me to believe so. The old man confirmed my suspicion. He told me a great many things about you.”

  "Did he tell you why he joined the Brotherhood?"

  "No, he never explained that, or anything for that matter." She shifted position on the bed. It was a very feminine movement, lithe and graceful. "He made statements and didn’t seem to care whether I understood, only that I knew certain facts."

  "Tell me what happened after you were taken from the barge," Mar insisted.

  Telriy gave a little shiver and pulled the coverlet closer about her shoulders, shifting closer to his warmth. She laid
her head back on his pillow, so that their faces were only a span apart. He did not draw away.

  "The Brotherhood's magic doorway brought us to that ship from which you rescued me. It was still out to sea, but I don't know how far, and I think we put into one port that I wasn’t allowed to see before we sailed for Mhajhkaei. Waleck was unconscious when we arrived, but one of them used a healing amulet of some type and brought him to. Then they put us in a cell and left us. That was when he told me about you. He acted very odd and his voice was strange, sort of strangled, as if he were fighting it. After dawn, the Monks took the old man away. I didn’t see him after that but once, at a distance down a passageway aboard the ship. He wore the brown hood and didn’t speak to me.”

  "Do you think they used magic to force him to become one of them?"

  "No, he told me that he would convert before they took him away."

  "That’s when you also went over to them?" He could not fully conceal the anger this thought still raised in him.

  Telriy looked exasperated. “I didn’t actually volunteer.”

  “But yesterday –“

  “I was angry and frightened yesterday.”

  Mar waited.

  Telriy sighed. “Later that day an older monk that I had not seen before came to my cell. He had a magical device that looked like a mirror. He worked with it for a moment and the results apparently pleased him a great deal. He told me that I did indeed have Ability. That’s what the Monks call the talent necessary to use magic. Did you know that not everyone can use magic? That it runs in families?”

  “Yes, the text said something about that.”

  “Well, this monk gave me a long sermon about the coming ‘Restoration’ and our common duty to work for it. He made it clear that I would be expected to do my part, either voluntarily or involuntarily.”

  “How so?”

  “If I would submit to the ordinances of Phaelle and take their Vow of Obedience, become a ‘Sister of the Community,’ –- they don’t call themselves monks, by the way, they are ‘Brothers in the Work’ and the Brotherhood of Phaelle is a ‘Fraternity of Duty’ -- I would be allowed to choose from among a group of suitable candidates. Otherwise one would be selected for me at the appropriate time.”

  “Candidates for what?”

  The girl’s expression tightened. “To father my children. The Phaelle’n are breeding for the ability to use magic -- just like farmers breed for strength in oxen.”

  Mar said nothing for several moments, contemplating the implications of this. “What happened then?”

  “There was a short ceremony, during which I was led through the recitation of long passages from their Book of Phaelle and given an initiate’s hood. Afterwards the Phaelle’n turned me over to an old woman who was in charge of the women’s quarters. She assigned me a bunk and lectured me on my work and instructional schedule.”

  "Did you tell them where to find the Mother of the Sea?"

  Telriy shook her head. “I wasn’t questioned. It seemed as if they had no other interest in me than as a brood mare.”

  “Waleck didn’t tell them about the text?”

  "I don’t know. As I said, I never spoke with him again. The matrons allowed me very little contact with the crew of the ship except during the morning instructional period with the other initiates. In the afternoons, I was given simple work to do but always under close supervision. All the rest of the time I was confined to the women’s quarters. When you attacked, I was with a cleaning detail above decks.”

  Mar lapsed into a brooding silence.

  After several long moments, Telriy placed a soft hand upon his arm.

  "I...I want to say that...," she began hesitantly, her voice dropping to the barest whisper, "...I am sorry for striking you yesterday, Mar."

  Mar, his mind churning, did not respond.

  "I have never flown before!" she explained in an excited rush and then fell silent, gazing at him intently. Unaccountably, as her eyes locked with his, a flush rose to her cheeks, but she did not look away.

  "Waleck told me one other thing in our cell," she continued at last, her voice now barely audible. "He confirmed the auguries that my grandmother cast at my birth. He told me that . . . my sons would be kings."

  The girl leaned in abruptly, hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him close. Startled, he did not react as she pressed her lips against his in an ardent but rather inexperienced kiss.

  The door burst open without warning, crashing back against the wall with a flat bang! With two elderly armsmen peering interestedly around his bulk, Captain Mhiskva strode boldly through the opening. Telriy, with an angry yelp, sprang back from Mar and yanked the coverlet to her chin.

  Mar, wondering why he felt guilty, bounded to his feet, remembering only at the last moment that he wore only his smallclothes. Rather than submit to his embarrassment and scramble for his clothes, he straightened and glared.

  The huge officer bowed low. "Your pardon, my lord magician, but Lord Ghorn told me that I should find you here. Your pardon also, my lady," he added, taking distinct care not to glance in Telriy’s direction. The girl, for her part, awarded the captain a steely glare.

  "What does Lord Ghorn want?” Mar asked not bothering to hide his irritation.

  "My lord Magician, you must come at once. The Monks have sent heralds with terms for our surrender."

  Mar immediately strode to the chair where his clothes hung, grabbed his trousers, and thrust one leg into them. “What are their terms?”

  “I do not know, my lord. We have not seen them. The Phaelle’n heralds appeared before the Southwest Bastion, which an officer of the militia commanded. The missive addressed the Court of the Princedom, but the militia commander, rather than send word to his immediate superior, chose to convey the envoys to Lord Bhelx, the President of the Senate, who immediately received the offer in the Prince’s Name. Lord Ghorn was not informed until just a few moments ago. He was highly displeased.”

  Mar pulled his shirt over his head and snatched up his tunic. “Let’s go.”

  “Your boots, my lord?” Mhiskva inquired pointedly.

  Telriy smothered a bubbling laugh and then smiled sweetly when Mar turned his glare upon her. Fuming, he dropped into the chair and pulled on his boots.

  “This is completely unexpected?” Mar asked, stomping to seat his right foot. The boots were in good shape, but, as he had requested, not new.

  “In the five years that they have been using the Princedom of Plydyre to conquer the Bronze Archipelago,” Mhiskva replied, “they have offered numerous ultimatums, threats, and sanctions, but have never to our knowledge offered to negotiate a surrender.”

  “It’s a trick.”

  The captain nodded. “So we suspect.”

  Mar stood. “Why even consider it?”

  “Political considerations, my lord.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It might be best if you discussed that with Lord Ghorn in private, my lord.”

  Mar shrugged. “Alright.” He started toward the door.

  “Do you need a moment alone with your wife before we depart?” Mhiskva asked delicately.

  Mar stopped. “She’s not my wife.”

  The large captain smiled the patiently polite smile that he seemed to use a lot around Mar.

  Mar frowned. “Give me a moment then.”

  “Aye, my lord. I shall wait just outside.” The large captain bowed again to Mar, then Telriy, and closed the door behind him.

  “Did I miss something?” the girl asked amusedly from the bed. “Like my own wedding?”

  “Forget it. It’s just a misconception.”

  The girl’s eyes darkened. “Was that a joke?”

  Mar shrugged.

  “Never mind,” the girl dismissed. “Are you coming back?”

  “No.”

  Telriy contemplated him a moment. “Tonight?”

  “No.”

  “I would like to talk to you about your magic.
”

  “No.”

  The girl sighed. “How long will I be a prisoner?”

  “I don’t know.” Mar turned to go.

  “Wait!” Telriy bounced from the bed and wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For freeing me from the Phaelle’n.”

  Mar found himself with nothing to say, so he simply turned on his heel and left.

  SEVENTEEN

  Mhiskva, in a great hurry, wasted no time. The large captain had turned a corner in the corridor and disappeared down a curved stairwell before the door had fully closed behind Mar. The younger man had to run to catch up. The stair spiraled around the outer wall of the tower, landing every quarter turn at a floor, and thin crenellated windows with blue tinted panes spun by on their left.

  “I thought your prince ruled Mhajhkaei?” Mar questioned as he skipped down the cerulean-carpeted stairs. This was all he seemed to be doing of late – asking questions. However, he could either ask or remain ignorant, and the latter option struck him as profoundly absurd after all that had transpired. “What’s this Senate? Is it the Principate Council that Lord Ghorn spoke of?”

  “No, my lord,” Mhiskva replied without pausing. “The Principate Council consists of representatives of the twenty-seven Sister Cities of the Principate. The Senate deals only with the management of Mhajhkaei itself. Even were the Prince not too young to rule, no single man could govern a city such as ours unaided. The Senate members are forty-two citizens of distinction -- leading philosophers, learned scholars, and influential merchants. Some of the seats are hereditary, others are rewarded for service to the city. This body maintains the Civil Code, appoints functionaries, and allocates levies and tithes. The ruling prince retains the power to overturn any decision of the Senate, of course, but this is rarely done.”

  “Forty-two bureaucrats, dotards, and moneylenders?”

  The large captain boomed in genuine laughter. “Aye, in practice, you would be right more often than not.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “To forestall any independent action by the Senate, Lord Ghorn, as Heir Presumptive, has summoned a full meeting of the Court, under condition of war.”