Wizard (The Key to Magic) (29 page)

"You again. I had not thought that I would see you so soon."

The King of the Mhajhkaeirii edged back as Llylquaendt leveraged himself into a sitting position, shouldering aside the gaily patterned quilt that Myleu or one of the others must have draped over him after he had fallen asleep. As his eyes strayed to the slumbering Gheddessii around him, he gave a start.

"Why is nothing else moving?"

"You and are under the influence of a spell that slows the passage of time."

"Ah. Is that another new thing that you have learned?"

"No, I've always been able to do it, but it took me a relative month after I learned that it was possible to figure out how to adapt it into a glamour like this." Mar's brow furrowed. "You said soon? It's been four months since we returned from the Waste."

"It was just yesterday that I saw you last. At Khalar."

Mar's expression changed to one that Llylquaendt had often seen on the faces of his wives.

"I am
not
experiencing a moment of senility! I saw you yesterday in Khalar. You intercepted us as I was bringing you the warning from The One Who Sees. You cursed me with a longer life." He glanced at Mar's feet. "Nice boots. Did you have your legs regrown in an
autodoc
?"

"No. A Patriarch provided the boots and my spells the legs." The king of the Mhajhkaeirii studied him with an unfocused look. "You have six distinct artificial modulations. All are near enough in form to ones that I have created to be mine."

Llylquaendt grinned. "I knew that you had been playing with time! That was a grayer you, an older you. You haven't met me at Khalar yet!"

"What warning did you give me?"

"That you should not let Eishtren break his bow. The One Who Sees has foreseen a great disaster from that. It would affect a great swath of the world."

Mar gave no reaction, as if this was old news. "I am working on that, but when I have the time, I'll make sure to make that meeting."

"An ominous threat if I've ever heard one. I've never met a wizard before, but everyone knows the stories ... well, everyone in Pyra knew them ... but never mind that. What is it that you want of me?"

"I need your expertise. I need you to operate your
autodoc
."

Abruptly motivated and confident, Llylquaendt stood up with purpose, shedding his remaining bedding. The renewed vigor that he had experienced since his last encounter with the King-Emperor continued to improve.

"You have battle casualties?"

"Dead."

Llylquaendt let some of his urgency fade. "You remember I said that there is a time limit on
resuscitation?
Two hundred and fifty-eight minutes is the maximum."

"Yes, four hours and eighteen minutes. That won't be a problem. I'll get most of them within minutes of their deaths."

"Through undertime?" Llylquaendt made a face. "Such things were prohibited in Pyra."

"And Pyra is long dead."

"It was done for good reason. Wizards are not gods."

"What good is wizardry if a man cannot save his friends?"

"I know of no good in wizardry at all. The stories of wizards in my time were always portrayed as tragedies."

"You won't help?"

Llylquaendt sighed. "I will. I took an oath to aid those in need and I will do what I can within the limits of my abilities and training. What of my wives?"

"They won't notice your absence. When we're done, I'll return you to within seconds of your departure."

"In the stories, the companions of wizards always meet excruciating and sorrowful ends, did you know that?" Llylquaendt sighed again. "Well, let's be at it then."

THIRTY-SIX

Thirteenthday, Waxing, Third Wintermoon

1643 After the Founding of the Empire

The Imperials dragged the bloody corpse across the promenade and kicked it into the gutter. As soon as the sun came up, bondsmen in the service of the Urban Praefect would be summoned to cart it off.

Khalar was no stranger to the discarded dead.

Watching from the alley, Mar waited until the four Guardsmen, grousing and joking at the corpse's expense, had stamped back into the well lighted house. Save for those four, the rest of the Viceroy's Guard that had recently occupied the street had taken up the pursuit, leaving the thoroughfare empty. Some of the neighboring houses had lights behind their curtains, but none of the occupants had ventured out to inquire about the commotion. People might peer through blinds at the comings and goings from the house of Patriarch Hwraldek's mistress, but none of them were foolhardy enough to make their curiosity publicly known.

He had thought long and hard before coming here.

Sihmal had not been his friend and Mar could not any longer summon even a dram of regret at his death. At first, he had thought to leave Sihmal to his fate, but then had thought of the simple, worn young woman, always quiet and in the background, and the two girls, always hungry and wide-eyed, that had shared Sihmal's crumbling hovel. Mar had not been able to recall -- if he had actually ever taken the trouble to learn -- their names. Without shame, he had realized that he had not thought of them in a long time. Seeing after their welfare was not as simple as leaving them a full purse. She did not have the sophistication to buy her way out of the slum and the gold would only make them vulnerable targets.

As soon as the heavy door on the house shut behind the four Imperials, Mar darted out, padding softly, caught the corpse up with a slight boost of lifting magic, and let his next stride carry him and his burden into undertime. The draw of his already cast exit portal pulled him through the current so that his passage lasted only a relative instant and he crossed the many months and leagues to emerge into the brightly lit lower cavern of the bunker.

"How long has he been dead?" Llylquaendt asked, pointing toward the prepared
autodoc.

"No more than an hour," Mar told him as he shrugged the cool and stiffening corpse off his shoulder and onto the platform. He glanced once at the corpse's face and then away. The Imperials had apparently stomped on Sihmal while he lay dying.

"Has he ever expressed his opposition to being
resuscitated?
"

"He never knew such a thing was possible."

The medic busied himself at the console and within seconds the autodoc enveloped Sihmal's body. Llylquaendt paused for a moment to study the pattern of light that played on the surface of a rectangular glass panel.

"Malnourished, slightly anemic, and ... a rapidly growing malignancy in the bowel. This man would have been dead within half a year if whatever punctured his chest had not gotten him first."

Mar frowned. He did not want to hear that his effort had been wasted. "Can you cure that?"

"Of course. The spells of the
autodoc
will make him healthier than he has ever been. However, if my experience is any guide, poor nutrition, an improper exercise regimen, and unwise life choices will swiftly undo the improvements."

"He'll have regular meals and work to do. Aside from that, I'll make no promises."

"Sounds little better than prison."

"His family is alive -- a wife and two daughters. I'm going to bring them eventually. Within necessary limits, he'll be able to make whatever sort of life that he wants to here."

Llylquaendt looked around in thought for a moment. "You intend to repopulate Pyra?"

It was apparent that the
medic
was not certain that he approved of such a project.

"No, or at least not the surface, but I'll need a place for the people that I bring to live and work until I need them elsewhere. The bunker is livable, even if I have to bring in food and water. Its major advantage for my purposes is its isolation. Most of the rest of the world doesn't even know that this place exists and my people can operate here without danger of affecting or being affected by outside events."

"When I was a boy, my father had a saying. You can always count on two things going awry: the plan you make for today and the plan you make to fix the plan you made for today."

"But your father always made plans."

"Of course he did."

"How long till Sihmal is done?"

"An hour and a half, more or less. How many more will there be?"

"As many as possible."

The
medic
nodded, started to turn away, then gave a start. "I almost forgot again. I was puttering about while you were away and found something that must be yours."

Llylquaendt patted pockets until he found what he was looking for, withdrew a folded piece of paper and offered it to Mar. "I don't really remember -- one of the aggravations of being an old man is having an old man's memory -- but I believe that I opened your cylinder to see what was inside. I must have left this out when I closed it. My apologies."

Mar took the paper and unfolded it.

Only one who can find,

A means to sail in time,

Will discover lost
Dhiloeckmyur,

And retrieve number three long before.

OYRAEBOS

Mar laughed sourly. Oyraebos' trail of clues had been disrupted by the chance of one old man's forgetfulness, but he had followed it anyway.

Llylquaendt raised his eyebrows. "I read it but did not think it a jest."

"It wasn't. It's a clue leading to a place that I have already been."

"I think that I have heard of Dhiloeckmyur but I cannot recall it. Is it down on Szillarn?"

"No, it's much farther away than that. It was in the Oaurlervy Faction Commonwealth in the time of your Pyra."

"Oh! Yes, I remember now. Very far then as you said. Nasty and untrustworthy people by all accounts, those Factionites. Pyrai
regiments
fought against them on the side of the Alliance in the wars."

"The world is better for being rid of them."

Llylquaendt shook his head. "They are still about. Different people, different names, but the same tactics and the same arrogance."

With a grimace of agreement, Mar slid into undertime to continue his grisly work of stealing the men and women that he needed from the grip of death.

He exhumed Phehlahm from his fresh grave only a moment after the contingent of marines that had buried him had marched away.

The medic balked when Mar laid the dusty corpse on the autodoc. "This man was interred!"

"But he's been dead only three hours and forty-seven minutes. I could not retrieve him sooner without being observed."

"He's an armsman. Have you thought that he might prefer not to be hacked apart again?"

"I know Phehlahm well. He would prefer to do his duty. How long till he's back?"

Llylquaendt gave Mar a hard look then sighed. "More than two hours. All of his
cells
will have to be rebuilt. I suppose that you intend to send him into the slaughter again."

"If necessary. Where's Sihmal?"

With pursed lips, Llylquaendt pointed to a wheeled metal cot where the apparently sleeping thief lay. "I had to give him a
sedative.
He did not react well to his return to life and the yelling got on my nerves."

"I'll have Phehlahm take charge of him. Phehlahm will need instructions from you on how to set this place in order and to make sure that he doesn't inadvertently set off some deadly mechanism."

"If you intend to utilize any but the basic sanitary and
environmental
magics that are built into the bunker, you'll need
magenfolk.
Every high level device requires a minimum awareness of the background ether and a certain level of training. According to the
autodoc
, neither of these men have the dominant
gene
."

"They're not magicians, no. I doubt that any of those that I bring here will be. They'll have to make do."

When he returned with his next burden -- half an hour for him, more than three for Llylquaendt -- the medic again raised an objection. "Where's the rest of this man?"

"This is all that I could find. Is it enough?"

"The brain is intact, but the missing limbs and internal organs are problematic. The
autodoc
will have to
interpolate
and that means that he will not be the exact same man that he was. There are long term
physiological
and
psychological
implications that will almost certainly have adverse affects on his general health."

"This is Truhsg. He's an experienced underofficer and I need him to train the
rifle
crews."

He also needed the legate to find out which event or events had set Quaestor Eishtren on a path of self-destruction. Of the few that had escaped the fall of Mhajhkaei with the officer, the former fugleman had seemed to know Eishtren best.

"It is not your duty to save everyone who falls in battle."

"But I can save the ones that I must have."

"Death will always find them again."

"I don't doubt that. Have you decided to be the voice of my conscience?"

"Someone must be. Wizards are famous for having a tendency to begin to believe in their own omnipotence."

"I'll try my best to avoid that. Where are Phehlahm and Sihmal?"

"To give them something to do, I sent them up to the barracks level to find bedding. Wizards may not have to sleep, but
medics
do. And
medics
have to eat, by the way. You mentioned regular meals this morning?"

Mar frowned. "What time is it for you?"

"Diner time at the very least."

"Sorry, I'll fetch something right away. What would you like?"

"Anything that does not have horse meat or mare's milk in it."

Laughing, Mar stepped into undertime.

THIRTY-SEVEN

143rd Year of the Reign of the City

Fifthday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire

Mhajhkaei