Warrior (The Key to Magic) (4 page)

The barrage landed in a circle no more than five paces across.  The explosive force of the plunging ethereal bombs shattered walls and windows and the updraft sheered eaves and peeled tiles from adjacent roofs.  The glare of the multiple detonations lit up the entire village for a moment.

For several seconds, his enhanced vision notwithstanding, Beltr could not see the perpetrator for the residual fire, dust, and smoke, but he had no doubt that the man had survived.  He switched to the team phase to directly address the enforcement soldiers.  "Advance.  Move in before he can recover."

Those below who were still responsive and ambulatory, a reassuringly adequate majority, ported as close as the savaged ether would permit, some reaching a few paces from the figure just now emerging from the aftereffects of the barrage.

The perpetrator was still standing, but seemed unsteady.  This last did not, however, prevent him from raising a shield of ethereal flux that held the soldiers at bay.

After a few seconds, the background ether settled and Beltr saw his opportunity.  A conventional ward would have interfered with transport magic, but the perpetrator's basic though powerful spell would not.  Beltr touched his pendent to activate its spells and then ported to a spot immediately to the rear of the intent wizard.  Before the man could turn about, the Compliance Officer swung his cudgel with all the force at his disposal.

THREE

143rd Year of the Reign of the City

Thirteenthday, Waning, 2nd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire

Aboard Number One

As Number One sped back toward Mhajhkaei, Eishtren stood by the starboard rail and looked over the moonlit Silver Sea a hundred manheight below.  The vast, empty, and monotonous seascape helped him think of nothing.

"I'm going to my cabin," the king informed all present as he floated down the steerage stairs.  "Call me immediately if Shrikes are sighted."

"Aye, my lord king," Ulor replied.

Ulor was not scheduled to be part of the deck watch, but Eishtren knew that the marine officer had made a habit of showing up to chat with -- and not so unobtrusively monitor -- Subaltern Trinst's operation of the king's flagship.

One of the latest batch of trainee magicians, Trinst, as most junior, was always assigned to the overnight watches.  By all accounts possessing a better than fair magical skill, Trinst had made a direct application to the throne to complete his certification as a military pilot aboard Number One.  Eishtren had observed that the king tended to grant such boons almost automatically and it had been no surprise to him that Trinst had been allowed to join Number One's crew on a temporary basis.  The chubby young man from Elboern sat calmly in the bolted down pilot's chair at the center of the steerage deck as he guided the skyship.   

"Subaltern Trinst," Ulor mentioned, "it might be advisable to increase our speed.  Don't want to be tardy getting back to the city.  High-Captain Mhiskva might be a bit put out if we are not back in time to make the Principate conference."

"Aye, sir."  A look of deep concentration fell over the young pilot's face and Eishtren felt Number One surge slightly.  Trinst was hardly seventeen, but to Eishtren's mind was already an exceptional magician.

"Very good, subaltern, but you should try to accelerate in a smoother fashion."

"Aye, sir."

As Ulor began to lecture the pilot in a low, calm voice on the, to Eishtren, incomprehensible esoteric subtleties of flux modulation, the quaestor focused his attention on the light glinting from the near calm water below and once again purposefully emptied his mind to relax the persistent clench in his jaw.

After a while, Eishtren sensed Legate Truhsg come topside and ascend to the steerage, but did not turn.  Without the need to see or hear them, Eishtren could locate and identify anyone who came within nearly a thousand armlengths.  He had gradually become aware of this ability over the last month or so and while this unexplained new skill had struck him as odd, he had not been moved to concern himself over it and had not bothered to mention it to anyone.  It did have the quite useful benefit of allowing him to more readily identify targets for his bow and he simply disregarded any untoward information that it might incidentally convey.

"We've finished the inventory, sir," Truhsg told Ulor.  "One thousand and twelve spheres remain."

Ulor made a rather rude disparaging sound.  "Looks like I'll be making spheres for the next week."

"Yes, sir, I'd say that you'd be right about that."

Though not nearly as productive as the king, the marine officer, still by far the best skyship pilot and often generally referred to by civilians as
the King's Magician,
had succeeded in learning to make the spheres in an appreciable quantity.  Thus far, of the other pilots and trainees, only the sisters, Mrye and Srye, could make spheres suitable for the polybolos and their time was almost exclusively consumed by the skyship routes that provided communication and supply vital to the operation of the Empire's struggle against the Brotherhood of Phaelle.

Truhsg saluted Ulor and then joined Eishtren at the rail.

The former fugleman openly examined Eishtren for an instant and then said, "Evening, sir."

Eishtren left his eyes fixed on the dark waters.  "Good evening, legate."

"I wanted to ask you about something, sir, but didn't have the chance till now.  Were you able to find out anything about your family the last time we were in the city?"

"No."

"Sorry to hear that, sir. If you like, I've some friends in the New Palace Guard. They could ask around."

"Thank you, but there is no need of that.  I found Lyra's mother living with some of her other family.  She knew what had become of Fugleman Mahryn, but she has not seen or heard from her daughter or the children since the fall of the Citadel to the Brotherhood.  Had my wife and Fenriy, Lyriy, Behgl, and Tgheon survived that disaster, they would surely by this time have made the fact known to their kin.  It is clear that all of them must have perished."

 Eishtren relayed this with no emotion whatsoever.  He had long since hardened his heart to the fact that the monks had taken everything that he valued from him.  Until his last breath, he would pile the bodies of Phaelle'n at the feet of Rwalkahn.  If the God of Righteous Vengeance grew weary of his blood offering, then he would offer it to Bligyld, Goddess of Eternal Hatred.  Should she, too, cry
enough
, then he would work through all of the Forty-Nine, even the pacifistic Seventy-Eight Handmaidens of Pwrll. 

"Sir?"

"Yes, Truhsg?"

"You've a terrible hard look in your eye.  Just like when you use your bow."

"War is my life."

Truhsg's normally stoic expression showed a brief flash of concern.  "The war won't last forever, sir."

"Mine will."

FOUR

Early on in his raids against the Brotherhood, Mar had had the cabin section of Number One remodeled to accommodate her expanded complement of armsmen, dividing the large compartments into much smaller spaces.   His personal cabin was now a cramped cubbyhole at the starboard end of the cross corridor that was just large enough for a bunk and a few odds and ends.

He took care when he opened the door to avoid striking it against the one just opposite it, slipped inside, and latched it to behind him keep it from banging open if the skyship had to maneuver sharply.  A thought lit the lamps.  He could navigate reasonably well in the dark by simply considering the shadows cast in the background ether and normally would not bother with the lamps, but tonight he intended to catch up on his work instead of going right to sleep.  Among other things, he would re-read the second text.

Llylquaendt's cylinder had proved to be a twin in size and appearance to the one that Mar had found at the Waste City, at least as far as he could remember it.

An idle memory made him wonder how long it had been since that original discovery had overthrown the course of his life, and it came to him as something of a shock to realize that only a little over thirteen months had passed. 

It seemed more than a lifetime.

It might as well be.  Mar could hardly remember the thief who had found the first text.    Now there was only a king and emperor who must destroy the Brotherhood of Phaelle.

It had taken him a fortnight after he had brought Number One back to Mhajhkaei to generate sufficient interest to open the new cylinder.  His original intention had been to share the discovery with Telriy and her unexplained but apparently voluntary departure had left him morose and disenchanted.

As expected, this newest cylinder had contained another sheaf of pages torn from the original reference. 

One glaring and worrying difference, however, was the lack of a written clue to a subsequent text.  A number of possibilities, some of them wildly imaginative, had occurred to him to explain this, but his only possible source of explanatory information was Llylquaendt.  At some point, Mar would have to return to the Waste to question the
medic
, but he felt no measurable enthusiasm for another expedition and his escalation of the war against the monks allowed no time for secondary considerations.

His first act after reading the second text was to direct scribes to make five hundred hand-copies.  Those he had ordered distributed and made freely available throughout the domains of the reconstituted Empire.  No working book presses were left in Mhajhkaei -- the Brotherhood considered the large, complex machines a conduit to subversion -- but he had made generous grants to the five surviving master bookbinders who had all agreed to work together to construct new ones.  In six months when the presses were in operation, he planned to have a hundred thousand copies printed in folio.  That should be sufficient to prevent the Brotherhood of Phaelle or any other common economic or political calamity from successfully suppressing their dissemination.

If at all possible, this dram of ancient magical wisdom would not be allowed to vanish into the abyss of history once more.

Without conscious effort, he summoned the cylinder from a cabinet as he lowered himself upon his bunk and the artifact raced dutifully to his hand.  This little bit of casual magic was not indolence, but an adaptation to his own reduced mobility.  Over the winter, he had learned sufficient ethereal finesse to accommodate his lack of limbs in all of his daily activities.  While Phehlahm still functioned as his occasional messenger and general assistant when he was aboard Number One, Mar no longer had to depend on the marine for help with otherwise simple tasks. Almost any physical object would now respond to his commands like a well trained dog.  He could dress himself, tidy his cabin, and even prepare food, though this last was something he worried with only infrequently.

While he did almost on a daily basis miss her culinary skills, he had assigned Yhejia, along with her extended brood, the Auxiliaries, and Signifier Aael, to manage the daily functions of the Palace.  In addition to placing a person of trust in the essential position of Royal Seneschal, this had had the added benefit of removing all noncombatants from Number One and had permitted the skyship to function without hindrance as a warship.

This also meant, of course, that the vessel now strictly conformed to standard wartime military practice, which in general meant a cold galley, and that he normally had to content himself with the dry, preserved travel fare that the crew consumed.

Not that that was any great nuisance. Regular meals being only a recent and brief interlude in his life, he had readily returned to his catch as catch can method of eating.  If he was hungry, he found something to eat.  If he was not, he did not concern himself.  Aboard Number One, he scrounged what was available.  In the city, he would take a prepared supper in his dayroom, but the rest of the time he would simply fly out to a street market near the docks where there were always fruits, breads, cheeses, and smoked meats available.

He flew his lap desk from its sea bracket as he removed the end cap from the cylinder and slid out the pages.  These he clamped to the desk in a neat stack.  The cylinder pieces he pushed off to the side and left hovering at a convenient distance.  With the lap desk ethereally supported just above his stubs, he focused his eyes on the top line of page twenty-one.

"Natural elements all have distinct but not always homogenous affective and effective ethereal traits and therefore intrinsic modulatory conventions.  There are, however, extensive documented exceptions to this property."

Feeling a sudden, weary pain, he rubbed his eyes with his hand.

Although he had not honestly expected -- though he had perhaps childishly sheltered an unrealistic hope -- to find some new, omnipotent magic that would allow him to crush the Brotherhood once and for all, he had been severely disappointed to learn that this latest ancient legacy dealt with the basic procedures necessary to combine common and rare ingredients to achieve ethereal effects, a discipline that the text styled
Occamy. 
These combinations were obviously the
concoctions
that Telriy had spoken of, such as her Blazes, but the new text contained no specific recipes or manufacturing steps.  Rather, it outlined in pedantic detail what it termed
"fundamental principals of the primal nature of flux interactions of physical components in the compositing matrix of a larger ethereal environment." 

As with the first text, the contents of this one were for practical purposes all but incomprehensible to Mar.

However, he continued to study them, and had, he believed, made some progress with relating the opaque prose with what he had learned of the ethereal characteristics of material objects.  At present, he continued to hold to the expectation that some form of understanding would enter his consciousness of the principles of Occamy.

He read on, managed another sixteen pages, but finally felt that the concepts were swirling in his head in an incomprehensible tangle and put the text aside, returning the pages to the cylinder, the desk to its bracket, and the cylinder to its cabinet.