Warrior (The Key to Magic) (16 page)

Rather than have his meal in his dayroom, he sent word to Mhiskva and Berhl to meet him in the dinning hall that adjoined the kitchens.  This was where most everyone else ate and for a change he wanted to be surrounded by people.  When he arrived, the majority of the long tables were full.  Ulor and Yhejia, their children, including Pip, and extended family, Signifier Aael and the Auxiliaries, the kitchen staff, the off-duty crew of Number One, a number of the King's Imperial Guard and various other marines and legionnaires were all present, eating, joking, talking, and generally enjoying themselves.

Abiding by his oft expressed wishes to be freed of such disruptive ceremony at all but official functions, none snapped to attention or made other commotion when he entered the hall, though several of the younger children waved and he waved back.

He took the first open space at the end of a bench, nodded pleasantly at his tablemates, a number of marines whom he recognized from Number One but did not know all by name, and considered the platters and bowls present while a plate and tableware were passed hand to hand to him from the stacks at the end.  There was a considerable variety and he had worked up a stiff appetite, but he limited himself to a small portion each of spiced beans with pork, potatoes mixed with some unidentified green vegetable, and fresh bread.  There was wine and tea, but he settled for water.

Listening to the marines' chatter, subdued no doubt by his presence, without participating, he had just started eating when Mhiskva arrived, with Berhl, Wilhm, and Lord Hhrahld in tow.  The marines, who had all finished or were nearly so, quickly and cheerfully vacated the table to make room.

"Please forgive our tardiness, my lord king," the high-captain apologized as he sat opposite.  "Lord Hhrahld and Wilhm have only arrived within the hour and we were discussing the situation on Plydyre."

With Wilhm sliding in to sit on the bench alongside Mhiskva, Lord Hhrahld taking a place to Mar's right, and all three of the Gaaelfharenii occupying the width of at least two normal sized men, the table was abruptly full again and Berhl had to fetch a stool to sit at the end of the table to Mar's left.

"Anything I should know?"

"There are a few isolated Phaelle'n still running free in the countryside," Lord Hhrahld replied, "and a number of bands of their conscripts have turned bandit, but all of the towns and villages are guarded, though most only with volunteers."

"I had thought that you might stay on there for a bit longer."

Before the Prince-Protector could respond, Wilhm said, "I have dreams.  We are supposed to be here, now."

Mar tensed.  "Tell me about your dreams, Wilhm."

"They are not good dreams."

"What happens in your dreams?"

"War and death.  Fire and more death."

"What else do your dreams tell you to do?"

"Nothing."

Mar looked at the others and found the eldest Gaaelfharenii frowning.  "Lord Hhrahld, do you know something about Wilhm's dreams?"

"No more than he has said, my lord king, but for the last few nights I have been perplexed by a dream myself.  I do not remember it when I wake, but I have begun to believe that it portends a glorious end."

"An end to what?"

"To me, my lord king."

For a moment, Mar thought that a shimmer passed through the background ether, a realignment of some sort or perhaps a suggestion of events to come.

"Nothing else?"

Lord Hhrahld nodded.

"No future is certain.  You, of all men, should know that."  The Prince-Protector had, after all, been killed under the Mother of the Seas in the Waste and been returned to life.

"Aye, but the future will arrive, whether we want it to or not."

TWENTY

The sorcerer, seated comfortably on the curb of the public fountain, watched Patriarch Hwraldek and his guards approach along the Avenue of the Great Victory at the Nourqerii Ford.  They and the myriad others heading to the Plaza of the Empire to join the special mid-fortnight festival in celebration of the coming Summer Advent, most of whom wore traditional willow crowns laced with flowers and hauled lunches and folding stools, were oblivious to his presence, of course.  The glamour that he maintained made him completely undetectable by any sense, magical or physical, by any but another equally skilled sorcerer.  In all the world, there was only one that could have pierced his concealment, and he knew that Mar was nowhere near Khalar.

At the precise moment that the sorcerer had foreseen, Hwraldek stopped to take a drink from the fountain, walking to a spot just to the sorcerer's left while the liveried armsmen formed a barrier cordon to deflect the surrounding riff raff.  

As the patriarch bent to cup his hands in the water, Waleck made the gestures and spoke the words necessary to cast the spell that would shift the patriarch and himself slightly out of kilter with the normal pace of time.  He could maintain the grueling effort for only a few moments at most, but that should be sufficient to say what need be said to alter Hwraldek's path to the future.

As Hwraldek straightened and raised the water to his mouth, his eyes widened as he took in the frozen world without, but this was the limit of his reaction.

The sorcerer released the glamour, gave the patriarch an instant to register his presence, then said, "Patriarch Hwraldek, your noble future awaits you."

Poise intact, Hwraldek finished his drink and shook the clinging drops from his hands.  "A future awaits me, yes, as it does all men."

"Your destiny is to rule."

"Perhaps.  I perceive that you are neither a minion of the Emperor, who I am sure would deliver his own message, most likely with fire and sword, nor of the Brotherhood of Phaelle, who communicate in a more simplistic manner."

"You are correct.  I work to insure that the world proceeds along its proper path."

"And that would be?"

"One in which those who have superior breeding and intelligence rule over lesser men."

"Interesting.  What would your work have to do with me?"

"Your destiny is that you rule Khalar.  The Forty-Nine have decreed it so."

Hwraldek did not respond immediately.  After a thoughtful moment, he said, "Again, perhaps.  Tell me,
sorcerer,
what future you have seen."

"That I cannot do.  I have only come to offer this warning:  Do not stand idle while opportunity awaits."

With that and only seconds to spare before the time spell collapsed, Waleck ported to the balcony of an apartment that overlooked the fountain and resumed his glamour.

From this hidden vantage, he watched the patriarch whip his head about for a moment and then gesture sharply for his guards to make him a path, not to continue along the street toward the Plaza, but to return to his villa.

The sorcerer smiled, knowing that at last all was in place.

Without this prod, Hwraldek would have remained cautious, contented himself with minor intrigues, and not attempted to challenge Mar's power. 

Now, he would plot rebellion.

TWENTY-ONE

17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 330th Day of Glorious Work

Year One of the New Age of Magic

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

Plythtwaelndt Fortress, north of Mhevyr

"Preeminence, the era of the heavily armored armsman is finished," Whorlyr pronounced as he strode into the command room.  He watched the Archdeacon's face for a reaction, but as always found Traeleon's expression unreadable.

"Are you suggesting that the Salient Order should discontinue the training of legionnaires?" the Archdeacon inquired with a lifted eyebrow.

"Of course not, Preeminence," Whorlyr replied.  "However, the superiority of magical transport and weaponry over the sword and shield is unmistakable.  As soon as we have enough bolt throwers, we should discard the sword entirely.  With no need to close with the enemy, chainmail, plate, and heavy leather will become useless weight."

"Possibly," the Archdeacon allowed.  "I take it that your victory was overwhelming?"

"My battalion destroyed the Yhmghaegnor Horse Guards in less than an hour."

"What of the Yhmghaegnor prince and noblemen?" Bhrucherra wanted to know.

"They were riding with the Horse Guards.  There were no survivors."

"You encountered no difficulties with crossfire?" the Archdeacon asked.

"No, Preeminence."

"The city?"

"Untouched, as instructed."

The Archdeacon walked over to the map table.  "What of the bridges?"

There were two fast running rivers and one wide stream between Mhevyr and Yhmghaegnor.  All three crossings had been considered potential barriers to the advance of Whorlyr's battalion.

"None were guarded, Preeminence.  Our scouts seized them without difficulty."

"We should not expect that our enemies will commit this error in future," Bhrucherra warned.

The Archdeacon drew his finger across the map from Mhevyr to Lhinstord and then to a snaking red line.  "There are fords suitable for the Algaraemyr platforms across all the water courses from here up to Lhinstord.  Beyond Lhinstord, however, the wide and deep Sand River presents a challenge."

The Archdeacon indicated the spot where the Imperial Highway intersected the river.  "Were this bridge destroyed, our invasion path would be cut off.  The next nearest bridge is fifty leagues north at Pontalbeo and it may not be wide enough to accommodate the platforms.  We would be forced to make a contested crossing of the river by mainly conventional means.  This would provide a clear advantage to the enemy and I can envision numerous scenarios in which we would be prevented from gaining a foothold on the western bank.  Moreover, granting that we did achieve the crossing, it would take a fortnight or more to ferry the platforms across on rafts.  "

"The Algaraemyr platform battalions will move like lightning, Preeminence," Whorlyr asserted.  "We will cross that bridge before the Apostate's creeping legions realize what has happened."

"Likely, but I would like to eliminate the contrary possibility.  Brother Bhrucherra, place Inquisitors in positions that will permit us to keep both ends of the bridge under observation.  At the proper moment, we shall insert Salient teams armed with bolt throwers via the Emerald Gate to secure it."

"It will be done, brother."

"Director of Forces, prepare the host.  You have a fortnight.  We go to war at dawn of Seventhday, Waning."

TWENTY-TWO

143rd Year of the Reign of the City

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

Palace of the Empire, Mhajhkaei

Lady Rhavaelei closed the thin flannel robe over her bare skin and tied the sash.  The form-fitting garment barely reached her mid-thigh and the cool air passing through her open windows made goosebumps chase themselves up the exposed skin of her legs.  She had considered wearing a camisole of lace and gossamer underneath, but had decided that the still youthfully firm flesh of her own uncovered breasts, loins, and thighs would work best to enflame the desire of the king.  It would not do to simply temp him; she must have him in her bed.

She had already dispensed the witch's potion into the pot of tea waiting with the matching gold-rimmed cups on the tray.   She was not completely convinced that the potion would work as claimed, but hoped that it might prove ultimately unnecessary.  Though she had no intention of indulging in common crudity, she would play the wanton so that there would be no doubt that she was willing and eager to offer him comfort.  Opportunity was the prime ingredient in indiscretion and she had never met a man that would spurn an unclothed and agreeable woman who pressed herself into his arms.

His wife, the witch, had been gone these several months.  With false kindnesses and small gifts of money, Rhavaelei had managed to befriend the old man who swept the floors outside the king's chambers and had chatted with him as often as the occasion presented.  From what the sweeper had told her, the king had not once taken concubine or engaged in highborn dalliance.  Though he was disgustingly disfigured, he was still a young man -- as he had sired a child on the witch, so he must still be intact -- and, in her experience, the longer a young man went without a woman in his bed, the more susceptible he would be to seduction.

For a brief period, while it had seemed to her that a final Phaelle'n victory was inevitable, Rhavaelei had flirted with treason, even going so far as to make indirect contact with the Brotherhood.  When, in a move that still seemed nearly miraculous, the king had retaken Mhajhkaei, she had immediately abandoned all such thoughts, knowing that her aspirations could more readily be achieved in the paternalistic but comparatively liberal Mhajhkaeirii'n political structure.  Unable to change her own sex, it would have been impossible for her to have gained any significant power in the
fraternity
of the Great Phaelle
.

Instead she had devoted all her energies toward the establishment of influence in the new regime.  However, these efforts had run full tilt into the uncompromising Blood Oath.  Even outside the king's inner circle, every functionary and flunky had the Scar.  Those people could not be bribed, suborned by wine, extorted by peccadillo, or in any wise convinced to do anything that would diminish the stature and power of Mar, King of Mhajhkaei by blood and steel.

Against that horrible magic, she had accomplished nothing.

But tonight she would enact a gambit that in one fell stroke that would raise her above all the intransigent toadies and place her irrevocably at the king's side, at first admittedly in the scarlet position of royal mistress, but in time in her rightful place as wedded Queen.   Once he was thoroughly infatuated, it would be a simple matter to convince him to divorce the witch.

Preparing herself as a fit sacrifice, she had bathed in rosewater, letting the languid aroma permeate her skin.  After washing her hair in shampoos that smelled of lilacs and daffodils, she had combed it dry and left it to its natural, common wave.  Now,  it lay free upon her shoulders with only two silver combs to hold it off her ears.  The style was not alluring in her opinion, but she thought he would think it comely.