Wizard (The Key to Magic) (28 page)

When he cracked the seal and pulled the weapon out, he found it just as he had foreseen -- unmarred by time, but with its loading port empty. Knowing his course and anxious to follow it, he secured the weapon in a pocket, left the hole open and the warrior's bones exposed to the wolves that would scatter them before the fortnight was out, abandoned the shovel and lead jar beside the hole, and hurried back to make the strenuous climb to the upper chamber of the spire.

Waleck spoke up finally as nhBreen began to pack his knapsack.

"So you are going to the Western Shore to hack at a glacier. Surely there is another store of ammunition somewhere warm, say the northern coast of Szillarn."

"You will be happy to know," nhBreen allowed, "that the mountainside is my last stop save one. First, we shall visit Mhevyr."

"Traeleon may not be very happy to see you."

"He does not know that I engineered the attempted assassination by the Cadre of the Restorer and their allied lunatics."

"But he does know that you did not warn him of it."

"As I expected, he survived and the slaughter of the Conclave left him with much tighter personal control of the Brotherhood. He is smart enough to have already determined this for himself."

"He is not the sort of man that feels gratitude."

"But he is the sort of man that can readily recognize opportunity."

nhBreen strapped on the port bracelet and gave the chamber one final look. The discarded non-functional magical devices and his reams of handwritten notes would be well buried when the spire fell and he had no need to worry with them. The household goods -- his pot, mug, bedding, flints, and so on -- were not worth bringing along.

He tapped a code into the bracelet and appeared on a wooded hill forty-five leagues north of Yhmghaegnor, a little more than half way to his destination. Another port and the consequent reduction in the flux reserve module would be required to reach Mhevyr. The bracelet, an experimental model of Republican Manufacture with a range that surpassed that of the devices that had been in common use in the ancient world by a hundred fold, had been a very fortunate find that had enabled him to cross the continent at will. Drawn to it by the cloudy remnants of an unremembered dream, he had pilfered it from a barbarian hovel in the lands of the Khelmuldurii. How it had come to be in the hovel and its provenance prior to that were mysteries that did not concern him.

Before he keyed the port the second time, he cast glamours to conceal his presence, both from eyes and ears. He arrived on the orphaned terrace that was all that remained of the demolished palace of the now extinguished Mhevyrii princedom. Overlooking the cratered and rubble-heaped plaza that previously had been named Victory, the height of the terrace allowed him to look all the way up the wide Prince Remahl March -- or whatever the Phaelle'n had renamed it to -- toward the triumphal arch.

No wheeled traffic traversed the boulevard and none of the common street commerce that would be expected in a city this large -- food vendors, craftsmen hawking small wares, farmers selling vegetables from carts -- were present, indicating that the inhabitants had not yet acclimated to their new masters. Some hooded monks were going and coming and small contingents of armored Salients were positioned at regular intervals, but the Mhevyrii were clearly keeping to their homes.

After descending a stair abbreviated by a sizable crater, he proceeded across the Plaza and up the center of the March. Not having yet encoded a location for the Plythtwaelndt Fortress, he would be unable to use the port and would have to get there by mundane means. While this would save a small pittance of the flux reserve, it would take as much as two hours to reach the Phaelle'n bastion.

"The day is warm here," Waleck said. "The walk will be good for your knees."

The old man normally never spoke aloud when others were about, but the glamours would conceal his voice.

"If I had the equipment required to instruct the sprites, my knees would be in perfect shape. The devices maintain my body in the state recorded at the moment the Bastion fell -- bad knees and all."

"You would have a better chance of finding any surviving medical equipment if you were to actively search for it instead of continuing to pursue your efforts against Mar."

"Mar is not my major concern at this time."

"Oh? Then who is?"

Knowing that the phantom in his head would use the information in further attempts to thwart his efforts, he did not reply.

Near the far end of the March, he encountered of a gang of a dozen stout monks led by a Brohivii with a shaved head and the newly inked cranial tattoos of a zealot. His bare torso, also branded with fresh designs that suggested a particularly virulent strain of the sect, had a rawhide flail wrapped from left shoulder to right waist. It was apparent from the wheals that decorated the man's back that he had seen fit to express his zeal by self-flagellation.

The gang had spread across the promenade and part way onto the pavement on the left side of the boulevard to confront a gray-haired man and a young woman. Both wore the fine clothing of the affluent and both looked terrified.

These matters beneath his notice, nhBreen would normally have continued on, but on a whim he stopped to discover what transpired. He had arrived in the middle of the confrontation, but it was easy to see by the zealot's flushed face that he had been haranguing the two Mhevyrii.

"... and the Great Phaelle has brought the true message of Magic to this benighted world!" The Brohivii gave a start as his eyes tracked over the young woman, locking on a cameo affixed to the buckle of the belt of her skirt, and his arm shot out to point in accusation.
"Worship of false gods is an affront to the majesty of the Great Phaelle!"

The cowering young woman gasped. "I didn't realize...it's only a cameo..."

Drawn by curiosity, nhBreen moved between two of the screening monks to a spot adjacent to the zealot so that he could get a closer look at the cameo. The profile depicted on the overlarge decoration had obviously been derived from the large nosed and flower crowned icon normally associated with Phisitia, Benefactor of the Kind.

nhBreen had a flash of a vision of the monks seizing the two Mhevyrii, tying them to a nearby iron hitching post, and stripping both to the waist. While chanting verses in praise of Great Phaelle to keep time, the strident zealot would then apply his flail to their backs and flanks until he drew blood. The old man would grit his teeth and endure, but the girl would scream continuously until she lost consciousness.

He drew his belt knife, reversed it to hold it by the blade, then swiftly swung it so that the brass handle struck the zealot hard in the temple. Stunned, the man collapsed and shook as if seized by a spasm. As the other Phaelle'n rushed to their leader's aid, nhBreen stepped closer to the old man and adjusted his glamour to allow his voice to carry to the Mhevyrii.

"Leave this place
now."

The old man jumped at the voice emerging from nothing, but grabbed the young woman's hand and raced away from the distracted monks.

As nhBreen moved away in the wake of the departing Mhevyrii, he felt that he should provide some justification for his intervention.

"nhBreen would have intervened, so I did. He was a champion of the weak."

The phantom made no comment.

THIRTY-FOUR

17th Year of the Phaelle’n Ascension, 348th Day of Glorious Work

Year One of the New Age of Magic

(Eleventhday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)

Plythtwaelndt Fortress, north of Mhevyr

As he watched Bhrucherra, at the table across the room that accommodated the skryers and far talking disk operators, receive the long awaited scouting report, Traeleon ate his breakfast with mechanical efficiency at his own small table. During the grinding night in the operations room, he had taken very little sleep on the lounge that Bhrucherra had had brought in, but the meal was an unavoidable concession to necessity if he were to continue to function at his normal effectiveness. Though the First Inquisitor left the Archivists after only another three minutes, Traeleon had already finished his eggs, bread, potatoes, and beans.

Bhrucherra conveyed the report immediately. Having a perfect memory, he needed no notes.

"Commander-of-Cloisters Shalamha'n and his team of algars from the cantonment at Waelhpaednt first encountered what appeared to be storm wrack -- damaged trees and structures -- five leagues to the east of Lhinstord and began to come across injured civilians after another third of a league. Three leagues from Lhinstord at the village of Arlhes, which had suffered severe wind damage, they made contact with the crew of an algar of the Sixth Battalion that had malfunctioned and had been awaiting a replacement carriage to be brought up. The crew indicated that a terrific blast of wind and sound out of the west had struck the village between the second and third hour of the morning. The devastation increased as the team continued west along the Imperial Highway and two leagues short of Lhinstord the scouts came into an area where nearly everything had burned. Many hotspots were still present. Brother Shalamha'n stated that he could see the smoke from Lhinstord at this point and that in his judgment it was sufficient to indicate that the entire city was involved. As ordered, the team advanced to within a sixth of a league of the city but were unable to locate the forward supply cantonment that had been established by Director of Forces Whorlyr at the old Imperial compound on the Muren River."

"I understood that it was within sight of the highway," Traeleon said.

"Indeed, brother. Brother Shalamha'n's exact words were 'save for the stone pavement, everything else more than knee high had been obliterated.'"

"They found none of the brethren?"

"None living. Shall I send orders for Brother Shalamha'n to advance beyond Lhinstord?"

"No, I see no need of that at this point. The far talking disk operators have been unable to contact Whorlyr or any of his battalions and based upon the report of the scouts we must presume that his army no longer exists. It is clear that some ethereal discharge of great magnitude -- perhaps a recovered ancient weapon -- has occurred."

"With such destruction, the Apostate and his army must also have been destroyed. If he had survived, he would have advanced at once."

"I agree, but we will operate to the contrary until we have confirmation. Order Brother Shalamha'n to hold position and report any change."

"As you say, brother." Bhrucherra walked across the room to send the message.

Without the algars and the Shrikes, the likely deceased Whorlyr's plan to overrun the coastal cities of the Principate in a single, swift campaign must be abandoned.

But if the Apostate had indeed perished as well, then once replacement Salient cloisters had been brought in and organized, the advance to the west could be renewed, albeit at a more deliberate pace. Levies would have to be raised from the conquered lands to supplement the depleted ranks of the brethren, but absent the bolster of the Apostate's magic and his Mhajhkaeirii, the recalcitrant Princes of the Archipelago would swiftly fall into compliance. In a few months, the renewed armies of the Brotherhood would force the Principate and the upstart Empire to bow before Traeleon.

An empire could be much more efficiently managed than a coalition of cities and he decided that he would allow the Empire of the North to continue. A new emperor would be needed, but that would be no trouble at all.

When he raised his hand to gesture for one of the waiting scribes, all that lay about him became still. As he glared about at motionless brethren transformed into the semblance of statues, Waleck appeared in front of him.

Traeleon immediately drew his bolt thrower and aimed it at the prophet, but did not place his finger on the trigger.

"Greetings, Brother Waleck. What tidings do you bring me today? I hope these will be more instructive than your last."

"Mar is not dead."

"That is certainly a useful bit of information, but one that I would have learned soon enough."

"He will not come to Mhevyr."

"If true, that would be very beneficial, but I must ask why he would not? With the algar host destroyed, the way lies open to him."

"Your new allies will dissuade him."

"And those would be?"

"Sorcerers who will come down from the Cousins."

"The Aehrfhaenii believed that the twin lesser moons are the abodes of the gods."

"They are relics, the abodes of men who have slept since the ancient world of magic was destroyed. They will soon awake and descend to walk upon the world once more."

"To conquer?"

"To restore magic to what they see as a blighted world. But in the end, it will be the same."

"And they will ally themselves with me?"

"They will deign to call you an ally -- at first."

"But a subject eventually."

"Yes."

Having devoted his life to becoming master of the Brotherhood and having worked for the last decade to become master of the world, Traeleon would not become a toady to otherworldly sorcerers.

"Tell me plainly, prophet. What must I do to avoid that fate?"

"When the opportunity arises, betray your new allies. Join with Mar and the Mhajhkaeirii."

"Madness."

"Then serve. The choice is yours."

Waleck vanished and the room came to life once more.

Bhrucherra rushed over to him. "Brother Zsii, Director Whorlyr's far talking disk operator, has made contact!"

THIRTY-FIVE

Last Awakening

(Seventhday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)

In the eastern foothills of the Mheckels.

Grumbling, Llylquaendt stirred awake but did not open his eyes. "Rouse me later. I think that I'll sleep in this morning."

"It's not morning."

Llylquaendt blinked a moment at the familiar but not feminine voice, then took a heavy breath. The orange light from the heaped coals of the campfire made Mar's visage clear.