Warrior (The Key to Magic) (11 page)

"Of course not, husband.  Now, sit by the fire with Beasl and Kylii while we prepare your meal."

With another sigh, he acceded to the inevitable and sat on the bench.  The two women crowded close, wrapping him in their arms to share their warmth.  Beasl, whose familiar name meant
Smiles at Death
, began to rub his gnarled hands to warm them.  Kylii --
Two Knives To The Heart
-- produced a comb and dealt with his sole remaining vanity, his hair and beard.

When finally the women determined that he was properly fed and his appearance deemed suitable for public consideration, they accompanied him through the cantonment to the tents of The One Who Sees.  Very few people were about this morning.  The Gheddessii had no problem with sleeping in on cold days.  They also planned to march to their spring cantonment in the high pastures without stopping along the way, a journey of at least four days, and were taking it easy before the taxing ordeal.

The Gheddessii seer's portable dwelling, secured for the winter in one of the stone-walled corrals, though a bit larger than the average, was not more finely furnished or outfitted than any of the adjacent ones.  As far as the Gheddessii were concerned, wealth could only be measured in livestock and descendants.

The One Who Sees -- he had no given name, only the hereditary designation -- had certainly done what he could to insure the second, with his six sons and four daughters and all their associated children and spousal kin living together in a much extended household.  The elder two, a daughter and a son, stood outside the entrance flap of the tent, waiting.

"Greetings, Magic Father," the daughter whose name Llylquaendt could not recall said, opening the flap.  "The One Who Sees has been expecting you."

It was impossible to surprise a family who practiced foresight.

Llylquaendt had been able to convince only his wives to call him by his real name, and that only in the privacy of their own tent.  There had been some slight solace in the discovery that the slightly crude Imperial phrase "Magic Maker" had been a mistranslation.

His wives and the siblings followed him inside, but all took places on the rug-strewn floor a polite distance from the warm circle of candle light that surrounded The One Who Sees.  Among the Gheddessii, only the very old used stools.  In general, they lounged upon cushions and rugs, as the seer did now.

Seating himself slowly to avoid any strain to his back, Llylquaendt took his accustomed place on a pile of feather-stuffed lavender pillows identical to those upon which the seer reclined.  The One Who Sees eyed him just as one would to take the measure of a horse.

"Are you resting well, Magic Father?  Is there anything that can be done to improve your comfort? Would you like something to eat or drink?"

"I am as well as I can be and my wives take very good care of me," Llylquaendt assured the man without irritation.

 "That is good to hear.  What songs will you hear today, Magic Father?"

The illiterate Gheddessii kept all records in oral form, either as lyric poems or songs.  Every significant prophetic vision that had visited the seers of this tribe had been put to verse and passed down through the generations.  The current seer had boasted that he could sing nearly seven thousand songs without error.

 The songs often contradicted or were too vague to have real meaning, but did include sufficient accurate references to things that the Gheddessii could not possibly have knowledge of.  This latter characteristic was sufficiently novel to intrigue the always inquisitive Pyrai medic.

Llylquaendt shrugged.  "You choose.  I have enjoyed all that you have shared with me."

The seer rubbed his stubbly jaw with the backs of his fingers.  "Then I will sing today the song of my great-great-uncle, who in the Third Death Winter made a short song about the World Beyond."

The World Beyond was the Gheddessii's term for the lands on the other of the mountains, literally
all
the world outside of ours
.

The seer began in his strong if scratchy voice:

"In the time of the glory of the Gheddessii, P'sn'ghis'thoa will die a lonely death, betrayed by his guiding n'loomq."

P'sn'ghis'thoa was a corrupted Pyrai phrase that meant
the one with no legs who flies
.  This, Llylquaendt had determined, could only be Mar, the magenfolk king of the Mhajhkaeirii.  Mar, in the persona of P'sn'ghis'thoa, had shown up with remarkable frequency in the songs of the Gheddessii. 

N'loomq was an entirely Gheddessii word that meant
spirit guide
or
ancient master
, depending upon context.

"P'sn'ghis'thoa will lead his tribe against the spawn of the sorcerer."

"And the slaughter will be great."

"The spells of the sons of the sorcerer will destroy the boats that need no water of the tribe of P'sn'ghis'thoa.

"And the tribe of P'sn'ghis'thoa will be overthrown."

"Then the archer of P'sn'ghis'thoa will rise up and slay all that come before him, but the sons of the sorcerer will be too many, and P'sn'ghis'thoa will fall."

"In his despair, the archer of P'sn'ghis'thoa will break his accursed bow."

This archer could be no other than Quaestor Eishtren, whose bow was so suffused with flux that even Llylquaendt had been able to sense the disturbance it made in the background ether.

"And the szor'ghi'cha will consume the sons of the sorcerer and all about from one horizon to the next."

"And the sons of the sorcerer will not rise up again."

"And the world will shake."

"And the water will cover the grave of P'sn'ghis'thoa."

"And when the water goes back, the land will be different."

"And the Death Winter will come again."

"And there will be much distress among all the people."

"And the sorcerer will return to claim his prize."

The seer stopped and took a sip of
ldgmt
, a spirituous concoction made from fermented desert plants, to soothe his throat.  "Do you need to hear it again?"

"No," Llylquaendt replied, feeling a moment of sharp concern at the implication of the song.  "My understanding of your tongue has improved very much of late.  There was one word, though -- szor'ghi'cha.  What does it mean?"

"It is an old word that we do not use anymore. I do not know what it means."

Content with the company of his own thoughts, The One Who Sees sat unspeaking while Llylquaendt puzzled over the three syllables.

His intuition led him to first try to correlate them with a Pyrai word or phrase.  While the Gheddessii had many words in their language that they had borrowed or adapted from other tongues and also had many words relating to their daily lives that had been created in the last few thousand years, the basic spine of their language was Pyrai.

Several possibilities occurred to him, but none of them made any sense in this context.  When the word
thorghetkh
presented itself, he felt his heart constrict.  A thorghetkh was a lost hope, the desperate act of a doomed man.  It was also the name of an extremely powerful military spell, a weapon of incredible destruction also known as a
Blaze of Glory
.  Thorghetkhs had been used indiscriminately in the last war of high magic civilization and had been the weapon of choice in the Remnants' war of mutual extermination.

"This is not a good thing that will happen," he told The One Who Sees.

"Good or bad, it is what will come."

"Is there another song that speaks of this?"

"No, but I have dreamed of the death of P'sn'ghis'thoa eight times.  It will be soon.  We will move south as soon as the snows have gone off the lower peaks.  All of the tribes will join at the plateau near the southern pass and wait for the death of P'sn'ghis'thoa.  We will be safe from the upset of the world there and the peoples of the World Beyond will be much weakened.  In the summer after this one, those peoples will be scattered and much lessened.  We will cross the mountains so that we may inherit their places and leave this harsh land forever.  It has been foretold that we will do this."

Llylquaendt's decision was nearly instantaneous.  "I must go to give warning to Mar -- to P'sn'ghis'thoa
.
  It is not right that the peoples of the World Beyond should suffer so."

The seer's wrinkled face showed no ire, but his eyes revealed firm opposition.  "Not once has any changed what has been foretold."

"Even so, I will give this warning.  As you have seen, Mar has great power.  If there is any that can change his fate, it is he."

Now the seer did frown.  "This would be a dangerous journey for you, Magic Father.  I will send my nephew and a band of warriors in your stead."

In part to determine if he was indeed a captive or yet still free, Llylquaendt pressed the issue.

"No, it must be me.  Your warriors do not understand the World Beyond as do I and would not be able to travel as quickly as I.  I can reach the city on the river by foot and then take passage on one of the boats that need no water."

His face turning impassive, The One Who Sees shrugged.  "All are free to walk where they wish.  This is the first law of the Gheddessii."

Llylquaendt straightened, making ready to rise.  "Good.  I'll begin my preparations to travel immediately."

"Of course, Magic Father, but just to be safe, before you go --"

"No more wives."

"No, of course not, Magic Father, but even you must see the wisdom in providing for an unfortunate calamity that might deprive your people of the magicians that we are destined to have.  The trail over the mountains is difficult and the metal clad warriors of the city beyond the mountains are untrustworthy.  I'll not ask much of you.  Certainly no more wives, as all of the tribe can see that you have chosen the proper number to preserve your kith and kindred.  Just a few handmaidens, no more than ten or fifteen or twenty.  You won't have to take them into your household or provide care for them.  Our entire tribe will provide for them and their offspring and give them a generous choice of husbands, tents, and herds.  Just a few nights' work and you'll be on your way."

Llylquaendt winced.

THIRTEEN

Mar shifted on his throne, trying to find a spot where some hard, carven protuberance or sharp corner did not press uncomfortably upon his hips or back.

He had argued that a comfortable chair would be just as effective as the garish, high-backed, jewel-inlaid, and gold leaf covered Imperial Throne that Mhiskva had commissioned, but the Viceroy of Mhajhkaei had not budged.

"You must consider how those who rule the Sister Cities think, my lord king," Mhiskva had replied calmly.  "Even under the Principate, they held an authority that was explicitly subordinate to Mhajhkaei only in matters of trade.  While they have an obligation to provide contributions of armsmen and gold upon demand to the Principate Council, it has been at least a century and a half since they last were required to do so.  Each prince raises, funds and commanded his own legions and fleets, sets his own duties and taxes, and establishes his own laws and courts.  It will not be easy for them to surrender that sovereignty to the Empire.  We must impress upon them from the very start that we have not just taken the name of the Glorious Empire of the North but that you are in fact the true heir to its magnificence and power."

Mar had given Mhiskva a dubious look.  "And an uncomfortable throne will do that?"

"Over time, your courage and your magic will do that, my lord king.  However, the envoys of the Sister Cities who attend this meeting of the Principate Council will be either the, by and large, vainglorious princes themselves or wealthy, aristocratic cronies from their courts.  Both will expect a majestic form rather than a practical function.  That is, we must present them with overweening opulence, exaggerated pageantry, and a grandiose emperor that will fit their preconceptions.  Should we fail to provide a show of sufficient magnitude, the legitimacy of the Empire will be called to question in their eyes."

"At least add some cushions," Mar had proposed.

"That might suggest decadence, my lord king."

And so Mar sat on an entirely tortuous and gaudy monstrosity to oversee a conference that had the announced purpose of acquainting the Sister Cities with their new emperor.  In actual fact, the Sister Cities had been summoned to give them an opportunity to make either overt or tacit submission to the Empire.

Only nine invitations had been sent. 

Gealollh, because of her complicity in the death of Prince-Commander Ghorn, had been omitted from the list.  At some point in future, Mar would recommend her expulsion from the Principate, with the attendant likelihood of a punitive military expedition, but given that there were no armsmen to spare at the moment, the only thing that he could do was to ignore her traitorous prince. 

The minor inland cities north and east of Mhevyr toward the curving Eastern Shore -- Chyorletphar, Bzindz, Mklo, Phezg, and Yhmghaegnor -- were already under Phaelle'n occupation or threat of same and attempts to contact their princes had been unsuccessful. 

Suhr, the city nearest Mhajhkaei both geographically and diplomatically, held the proxies of the ten minor princedoms of the Inland Mercantile League and had been tasked to represent them all as a unified block. 

Kdenmyn, on a small island north and east of Plydyre, had declared for the Brotherhood after the fall of Mhevyr and would also be dealt with in due time.

The six most proficient magician-pilots, Ulor, Mrye, Srye, Trea, Ihlvoh, and Mistress Lysael, had been dispatched in various directions to gather and transport the envoys.  Rather than their own weathered and in many cases battle damaged vessels, Mhiskva had sent them in the newest skyships from Master Khlosb'ihs' Monolith yards.  All were of a sleeker, more airworthy design and all had numerous functional and decorative enhancements over Berhl and Ulor's original construction, including steel plating over their entire hull.  Each had been fully equipped with crew in fine livery, gleaming brass and polished wood polybolos, and the imperial flag flown proudly at the stern.