Warrior (The Key to Magic) (10 page)

"We will use this one for the remainder of the inspection.  Brother Pzieilng, it will not be necessary that you and the others accompany us any further."

Traeleon climbed through, went to the roof hatch, opened the latching clamps to let the spring restrained steel circle wind down out of the way, and then stepped up into the opening, extending his shoulders above the roof.  This gave him an unobstructed view all around the platform.

Bhrucherra and Whorlyr boarded, the latter going straightaway to the drover's seat while the First Inquisitor closed the access hatch behind them.

"Ready, Preeminence?" Whorlyr asked.

"Proceed."

The Archdeacon braced his hands against the lip of the hatch as the platform moved smoothly forward and began to climb the steep slope of the ramp to the surface.

"Brother Bhrucherra, grips should be mounted here so that the team leader can continuously observe while the platform is in motion.  The view out the firing loops will be too obstructed to observe all threats.  I can envision a scenario in which bold armsmen on foot could gain the roof of a platform from the rear and create havoc."

"Noted, brother."

Traeleon swung his head about as the vehicle emerged into the open at the center of the fortress' main courtyard.  Rank upon rank of completed platforms were grouped in precise lines, completely filling the space.  By default, Whorlyr continued through a large open gatehouse into the adjacent courtyard.  It was also completely filled.  Altogether, over one thousand platforms had already been completed.

"Director of Forces, make the necessary preparations for an expedition to reduce Yhmghaegnor," Traeleon ordered.  "I would like to test our tactics against a smaller foe before we begin our campaign to retake Mhajhkaei."

"As you say, Preeminence."

ELEVEN

Mar's regally dimensioned dayroom in the South Tower, like the majority of the rooms in the Palace, had been scrubbed to remove the soot of the Brotherhood's arson and had had the most egregious damage to the tile floor and stone walls repaired, but the tapestries, statuary, and fine furniture that had decorated it prior to the Phaelle'n retreat had not yet been replaced.  Someone had come up with a large, frayed rug showing a green field and leaping white hounds and Mhiskva had had a dozen unmatched chairs, now shoved back against the walls, brought in for meetings, but otherwise the room was unencumbered.  The simple chamber suited Mar well -- he had found that he had no taste at all for the opulence that the wealth of an Empire could potentially purchase -- and when he was not called upon to sit at court he spent his time here.  Adjacent to the dayroom was a spacious but equally austere bedroom, but he almost never used it, preferring his cabin aboard Number One.

He considered the maps pieced together on the large table that he had caused to be brought in.  Though many sections lacked more than token detail, the rough-bordered two armlength square composition displayed the entire island of Plydyre and its immediate surroundings.

"How many skyships do we have available to move Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs' corps?"

Maidsear Berhl consulted his notes.  "Excluding Number One, there are eleven magician piloted skyships that should be close enough to Mhajhkaei to be caught by courier boats and diverted from their current routes.  Allowing for the proven maximum speed of their magician-pilots, all of these can reach the city within twelve hours.  That will give us enough capacity to move the entire corps in a little over two trips."

"Start diverting.  Knight-Commander, are your armsmen ready to embark?"

"I gave mustering orders before I departed, my lord king.  Will the skyships be able to pick up my men from their bivouac or should I send word to march them into the city?"

"Berhl," Mar asked, "you can throw up some temporary mooring docks, can't you?"

"Aye, my lord king.  I'll have crews start right away."

Mar placed his finger on the northern Plydyrii city which was the last stronghold of the Brotherhood.  "Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs, I want you to lay siege to Bhaestryndt and make plans for an air and land assault on the Phaelle'n positions as soon as is convenient.  Coirneals Aerlon and Relvhm will use their forces to mop up any remaining Phaelle'n resistance in the south, but if you see that you need the Skyship Corps, it is at your immediate disposal."

"Yes, my lord king.

Mar eyed Mhiskva.  "We should postpone the conference.  I could take Number One back out to Plydyre."

The Gaaelfharenii nodded in ready agreement.  "Of course, my lord king.  However, I should point out that the envoys are already on their way and it is too late to contact them before they arrive.  When they reach Mhajhkaei, I can inform them that you have gone to Plydyre to wage war, but many of them will, I am certain, believe that the place of an Emperor is not in the middle of a small battle that can be commanded and won in short order by his loyal officers but rather on his throne where he would have the enhanced perspective to oversee the full scope of the conflict.  It is possible that a few of the envoys might incorrectly perceive this as a slight, suspecting that you do not place commensurate value on their advice and support, and perhaps take insult.  Should this happen, they might not readily respond to a second Imperial summons.  This eventuality would seriously undermine our efforts to gain the enthusiastic contribution of the Sister Cities and limit our access to their workforces, trained armsmen, and resources."

"Huh.  All that just to say that I can't go?"

"You are my king and emperor. It is not my place to gainsay you."

Mar made sour face.  "No, of course not.  Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs, if feel that you need the assistance of Number One to take Bhaestryndt, then all that you have to do is to send a courier and I'll come immediately."

"Yes, my lord king."

"Berhl, how about the new corps?"

"II Corps needs at least another month's training, my lord king.  We could send them to relieve the Skyship Corps so that Relvhm could move up toward Bhaestryndt, but I'd not want to put them straight into battle."

"There is also the problem of senior officers, my lord king," Dhrasnoaeghs added.  "Commander Aaeyorlyaeg, who is currently in charge of the corps, is a recalled pensioner who is over ninety and he has no staff whatsoever.  While I am certain that he would bravely face the challenge, he might best be employed to make ready to train the soon to be forming III Corps.  Also, none of the II Corps' legions has a full compliment of officers and only two have commanders.  The legates and the fuglemen have been making do while the focus is on training, but I would hesitate to field the corps without a solid command structure in place."

"Can you transfer experienced officers from your corps?"

"Some, but not enough to fill all the holes without hamstringing my own force."

"Mhiskva, is there someone that we could promote a few ranks?"

"I feel that it would be imprudent to raise a junior officer to command an entire corps, my lord king."

"What about Lord Hhrahld?"

"Lord Hhrahld has the training and experience, but placing him in command would restrict our ability to use his and Wilhm's special skills."

Mar thought a moment.  "It'll have to be Aerlon then.  Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs, when you arrive at Plydyre, inform him that he has been promoted and that he is to make preparations to take command of II Corps when it arrives.  He can transfer any of his Scouts and any of the Plydyrii that he has been working with.  That cutthroat fisherman Mehhglendt comes to mind, but he has total discretion."

"Yes, my lord king."

"Now that we have a foothold in Bronze," Mar told the three men, "we're going to take advantage of it in any way that we can."

TWELVE

Last Awakening

(Secondday, Waxing, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)

Winter cantonment of the Northern Sept of the People

As soon as Llylquaendt emerged from the tent, his five wives surrounded him with solicitous care, placing furs and quilted blankets upon his shoulders against the chill given off by the snow that hid yet in the shade, pressing a cup of heated and spiced mare's milk into his hands, and constantly insinuating their tall, fur-wrapped and sturdy forms to shield his body from the cutting wind.  This last incidentally placed their flesh between any potential danger and his, but he preferred not to think too often about the fact that all of them would willingly sacrifice their lives to preserve his.

He would have considered none of his wives comely in the long ago.  They were too strong featured, scarred, and sinewy to conform to the decadent and plush standards of beauty promoted during ancient times.  But they were all intelligent though unlearned, expert in the rigors of survival in the Waste, and constantly attentive to his wellbeing.

Captivity, however, be it benign and pampered, was still captivity.  While none of the Gheddessii ever raised a weapon to him or impeded his path in any manner and his presence with them was by his own choice, he felt captive all the same.

Always before when he had left his stasis coffin, he had been free to go wherever his impulse might lead, to travel to any part of the world, to divert on a whim from his intended course to sample any vistas or taste any delicacy.  Now, to bring the hope of progress through magic to these last wretched descendants of his people, he must remain day after dreadful day in this simple village.  The only thing that he had to look forward to was the arduous trek to their spring cantonment.

The cold of winter had stayed far later this year.  The crisp air of the desert frosted his breath as he moved about to work the kinks out of his aching joints.  All five of the women hovered near, three watching outward with the seeking eyes of hunters, two watching him to make sure that he did not stumble.

The only thing worse than having five wives all pregnant at the same time was having five pregnant female Gheddessii warriors as wives who had sworn to see no harm come to him.  They would not even let him go to make water alone.

At first, he had naively consulted with The One Who Sees to understand the policies of a polygamous Gheddessii household, but had learned with some confusion that the tribe was rigidly monogamous.  Their social penalties for infidelity bordered on the cruel.  However, further quiet investigation had revealed that liberal unspoken exceptions were often made where either spouse was afflicted with infertility or where accident, war, or disease had taken the last offspring and a family group was in danger of extinction.  The latter was the dispensation that had been applied in Llylquaendt's case.    

For the sake of what shreds of dignity he might still claim, he had spurred the advances of all those under the age of thirty.  At that, his still felt that his hard-eyed and weather-worn wives were too much his junior.  He would have raised this minimum, but the natural decrees of human reproduction forbade it.   He had also only considered the overtures of women that his portable instruments indicated had some detectable trace of magenfolk blood.  Even so, he had felt compelled to reject two dozen otherwise eligible suitors simply on the basis of his fear that he would not be able to remember all their names.

He had also spurned out of hand any who were not clear-eyed volunteers, turning his back on any daughters presented by their kin. 

Myleu, a statuesque warrior, was a widow of some eight years who had deemed all of her various suitors unworthy of the memory of her still mourned husband.  Beasl was an uncommonly intelligent woman who found the daily life of her tribe uninteresting and oppressive.  Kylii had a large, unlovely scar that disfigured an otherwise plain-featured face.  Mryeen, the oldest, was a stocky woman who had buried two husbands and three stillborns -- she thought Llylquaendt would change her luck.  Plri, the youngest at thirty, simply wanted a child without having to assume the extensive familial obligations that a Gheddessii marriage normally entailed.

Of course, all of his wives were frighteningly proficient with the bow and the knife.

"Myleu, I am going to see The One Who Sees," he told the leader of his guardian wives.  "I want to hear more of the songs."

Myleu, whose name meant
Throat Cutter
, had been his first wife and her baby was the farthest -- four months -- along.  While she had taken the confirmation by one of the simple spells of his kit of her pregnancy in stride, he had known nothing but worry for her child and the subsequent children that he had dutifully sired, children that he might live to see born but would surely not live to see grown. 

His knowledge of prenatal care was rudimentary, but he had used standard spells from his combat repertoire to immunize her, his other wives, and everyone else who would sit still long enough against all diseases and parasites that the soldiers of his time had been subject to.  Hopefully, that would provide a significant general health improvement and contribute to a healthy pregnancy.  He had also insisted that all of the warrior women vary their diets from the standard horse/chicken/goat-flesh/milk, dipping into one of the caches of gold that he had long ago secreted along the edge of the Waste to send with the tribe's traders to purchase vegetables and fruits from the outer farms of the Ice River Valley.  Other than that, he could perform minor first aid procedures with his portable instruments, but the vast majority of the medical magics that might possibly be needed at a childbirth could only be accessed using the installations of the bunker.  Because of the distance that must be traveled on foot across the accursed desert, he considered the bunker for all practical intents and purposes inaccessible.  He certainly never expected to see it again.

"We will be ready to go after you have eaten, husband."

Llylquaendt sighed.  "I traveled the world alone for nigh on eighty years, altogether, but now you deem me incapable of walking a hundred yards through the camp by myself?"