Warrior (The Key to Magic) (5 page)

Then, fatigued from the day but not drowsy, he summoned three of his books from the small locker at the foot of his bunk and considered their titles.

Though the prose was lively and the narrative intriguing, he had already read through
Tactics and Strategy of the Campaign against the Shurdzrian Pirates 686 AFE
three times. 
Imperial Strategists
, a modern scholarly tome of more than eight hundred pages, was dry, dense, and habitually bombastic, but it went into exhausting detail upon the major military decisions of all of the ancient Emperors from Rhazkek I to Kharghk XXIV.  He had four hundred and three tortuous pages left to read in that.  The final book was barely a hundred pages:
Thoughts on Battlefield Maneuver,
Ghorn nh’ Rzhem.
Mar had discovered Prince-Commander Ghorn's book in a pile of used books at a neighborhood market in Mhajhkaei only the day before Number One's departure for this mission.  Amazed to learn that the gruff warrior had once succumbed to the literary impulse, Mar had sped through it completely thrice.  The prepossessing work was a straightforward reflection on the tactics that the prince had learned from his instructors and how and why some of them had proven effective and many of them had not.

He sent the other two books scurrying back to their storage and opened the slim volume to its first page.

"No matter what, men will die."

For some time, Mar skimmed through the book, absorbing more than reading.  He found himself returning again and again to certain passages and incidents, delving into them to seek an understanding of what must be done to win a battle.

Finally, with a yawn overtaking him, he closed the book and turned to what he considered the most important but least stimulating of his daily tasks -- the review of the disposition of his army.  Lord Ghorn's book and the leather folio that contained the latest batch of reports sailed by each other as the first hid itself in the locker and the second waddled into Mar's hands.

He had ordered that reports be provided him on a weekly basis of all that transpired within the growing war machinery of the Empire: lists of recruits, commissions, separations, and promotions; abbreviated accounts of accidents and mishaps; citations of the strength, location, and readiness of all units and vessels; status updates on the training regimen of novice magicians; intelligence briefs from the Scout Corps; rumors and hard facts passed through Lady Rhavaelei; production rates of polybolos and progress of skyship construction; level and quality of stockpiles.  Every day without fail he dedicated time to work through these reports, focusing most particularly on the names contained within.

The first report was from the Monolith warship yards indicating that another skyship would soon be ready to come off the blocks.  As he would have to schedule the time to travel there to enchant it, he made a specific mental note of the fact.

At Master Khlosb'ihs' suggestion, the three skyship construction yards had specialized to improve efficiency, with the one at Khalar producing the courier boats and smaller craft, that at the Monolith concentrating on the larger fighting vessels, and the final one at Mhajhkaei building only the cargo friendly trade vessels.  While he could pop over to the yards at Mhajhkaei on short notice, any trip to Khalar or the Monolith required advance coordination with Mhiskva's always crowded schedule of royal or imperial appointments. 

Failure to do so often meant that his forays against the Brotherhood in Number One would be delayed by any rescheduled appointments that he had missed.  Mar had remained adamant that that he would attend such meetings only when absolutely necessary, but had found that Mhiskva's definition of "absolutely necessary" included any meeting at which a royal presence was ruled obligatory by convention, including all meetings with ambassadors, merchant delegations, petitioning citizen groups, individuals craving boons, scholarly committees, and conventions of the Senate.

The only meetings that he accepted with good grace were the regular Thirdday audiences where the sick or injured were brought before him for the ministrations of his healing magic.  There were many that he could not help, but when he could, the use of magic to benefit rather than harm always lifted his spirits.

After an about an hour, he began to feel his eyelids droop and exiled the folio back into the locker. With a final ethereal check on the skyship and her crew, he put out the lamps and lay back upon his bunk.

Relaxing his entire body, he turned his ethereal sense inward, focusing on his own flesh, blood, and bone.  During the time that Llylquaendt's
autodoc
had resurrected Lord Hhrahld, Mar had gleaned many key insights concerning the reconstruction of the human body.  Dedicated -- and often painful and bruising -- experimentation with his own severed limbs over the winter had led him to definitions for the exact flux modulations required to encourage the controlled regrowth of bones, muscles, skin, veins, and other physiological components for which he had no name.  Since it required every ounce of his concentration, he could only maintain the spells while he had complete liberty to do so, such as now.  Thus far, aside from increased pain, he could only detect progress on an ethereal level.

But he would persevere at the task.  He must perfect his mastery of the spells and increase the speed of the healing.  This commitment derived not particularly from a great need of his own legs -- though he could not deny that to be whole once more would simplify his life in many ways, including restoring to him a physical balance and stability that he felt he currently lacked -- but more importantly from the necessity to bring wounded armsmen back to full function so that they could return to the fight.

Since Telriy had vanished, three things had consumed his life:  the study of magic, the study of war, and the study of the men that he would send to die.

FIVE

143rd Year of the Reign of the City

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

Plydyre

Ensconced in the tight concealment of a crevasse in the rocky pinnacle of the hillock, Aerlon looked down on the Phaelle'n encampment in the expansive, sparsely wooded vale below.  The monks had let their fires burn down and most of the legion seemed to have retired, but a heavy guard watched the palisade gates across the main Zhijj road and patrolled the perimeter embankments.  A half dozen officers circulated to keep the guards alert.  This close to the port, however, the monks would have little reason to expect an attack.  Prior to today, Aerlon had limited his efforts to the interior provinces.

"Many of the legionnaires will be impressed Plydyrii," Mehhglendt said quietly.  "I believe that a goodly number will surrender rather than fight, if given the chance."

Face blackened with soot and flat on his belly behind a patch of briars warding the opening between two rock outcroppings, the large, balding Plydyrii fisherman led the better than four hundred strong Plydyrii Volunteer Brigade, the members of which were hidden in the brush and boulder piles along the backside of the oblong hillock.  He had the Scar, and Aerlon trusted him intrinsically.

Lord Hhrahld, crouched a few paces down the rugged forward slope and in the darkness giving the appearance of a large boulder, said, "We should take out the Phaelle'n officers.  Without leaders, the legionnaires won't be able to organize a defense.  Wilhm and I could pop down, slit their throats, and be back in less than half an hour."

For a few seconds, Aerlon contemplated Gaaelfharenii.  In spite of the fact that the gargantuan Mhajhkaeirii nobleman had apparently regained his reason and now had the speech and mannerisms of a scholar, the ravening, ferocious pirate remained just below the surface at all times, ready to be unleashed.

And, without hesitation or regret, Aerlon had on numerous occasions unleashed the demon and his inseparable shadow, the simple but equally deadly Wilhm who lay, apparently asleep, not far from Lord Hhrahld.  As proof of the proficiency of their mayhem, no monk now dared move about in the highlands or valleys of central Plydyre unless accompanied by a phalanx of heavily armed guards.

"The king has made a request for prisoners," Aerlon mentioned.  "It might be more useful if the monks were still able to talk."

The Prince-Protector made a casual, offhanded gesture.  "We could hamstring them.  They would still have the ability to confess their crimes."

"But then we would have to carry them about," Aerlon pointed out.  "Very inconvenient."

Lord Hhrahld sighed.  "Alright then.  Hale and whole, but not necessarily unscathed.  How many do you want?  Two? Five?"

"Actually, I would prefer all of them."

The pirate threw a look skyward as if imploring the Forty-Nine for aid.  "Very well, all of them it shall be.  Wilhm, let's take a stroll."

The younger man stirred, instantly awake, and the two Gaaelfharenii moved down into the sapling and blackberry thicket growing on the skree at the bottom of the hillock.   Within moments, they were lost to sight.

"How close do you think we can get?"  Mehhglendt wanted to know.

This was by far the largest raid that Aerlon had undertaken and the first that he had directed against Zhijj, the center of Phaelle'n power in the southeastern part of the island.  Beyond the Volunteer Brigade in the pine copse at the foot of the hillock, the 1st and just landed 2nd Scout Troops waited, giving him altogether about twelve hundred armsmen.

"We might make the bridge at Liston before we have to fall back." 

Liston was a village only two leagues further along the road and still ten short of the port city.

"The fort at the Djaen crossroads is only another league beyond the bridge.  If we made a feint toward that, the monks might sally some of their garrison out of Zhijj.  That would give Chalor and his group opportunities.  If we send a message now, they could make their preparations before we get to the bridge. "

Aerlon nodded.  "I'll send the courier boat back."

He turned his gaze back upon the enemy encampment.  Knowing the obviously magic-enhanced skill of the giants, he expected to see no overt signs of their progress through the enemy position, but thought that his vantage might allow him to catch a glimpse them from time to time.  However, he saw nothing that he could definitively determine to be evidence of the work of the Gaaelfharenii, save possibly once when for a brief instant a large shadow passed in front of a lantern.

After a half of an hour, Aerlon saw Wilhm appear out of the murk, circling around the northwestern end of the eroded ridge.  He climbed the steep and broken back slope without any visible strain and bore across his massive shoulders four bound, gagged, blindfolded, still in armor but disarmed, and in most cases unconscious Phaelle'n officers.  Clearly to avoid being silhouetted against the sky, he stopped a good distance below the crest.

"Lord Hhrahld said to bring you these," the young man informed Aerlon in a quiet voice.

After giving a quick order to Mehhglendt to keep watch, Aerlon crouched and slipped from the crevasse to work his way down to the Gaaelfharenii.  "Thank you, Wilhm.  Please take them down to Captain Lyral in the woods.  We will question them there."

"There are some more."

"That's fine.  Just bring them all to Captain Lyral."

Aerlon followed Wilhm down.

The Scouts troops were distributed through the wooded area in separated small groups, with the experienced 1st, commanded by Captain Lyral, to the south.  Lyral had established a command post on a cleared knoll at the approximate center of his area.  Aerlon, Wilhm, and the latter's burden were passed without delay through pickets by the concealed armsmen, all of whom wore chainmail, helms, and gauntlets that  had been stained with a solution of vinegar and dark red clay to reduce the shine of the steel.

"Should we get ready to move up, sir?" the short, stocky captain asked as soon as he saw Aerlon and Wilhm.

"Not yet," Aerlon said.  "When Lord Hhrahld has secured all the prisoners, the 1st Troop and the Volunteer Brigade will infiltrate the Phaelle'n position, with the 2nd taking a reserve position in proximity to the camp.  Right now, I'd like you to take charge of the prisoners that Wilhm has here and the others that he will bring."

  "Yes, sir."  Lyral called for a fugleman and two quads and these speedily relieved Wilhm of the insensate Phaelle'n. The Gaaelfharenii immediately sprinted away in utter silence.

"Has the courier boat returned?" Aerlon asked.

"No, sir.  Magician-Pilot Thorbhist is ten minutes overdue."

"I'll wait here for him, then.  I want to send a message to Zhijj."

Another fifteen minutes passed and the small flying boat had not yet drifted down from the sky.  In the interim, Wilhm had made four trips, carrying an extra prisoner on the last two, to bring the total to twenty-two.  All the prisoners of the last group were fuglemen or ceannaires.   

Before the giant departed again, Aerlon, not concerned but intensely curious, asked him, "How many more prisoners have you and Lord Hhrahld captured?"

Wilhm was quiet for a moment as he considered the question.  "I have not counted them.  There are some more. Lord Hhrahld has not finished."

Aerlon pursed his lips, not sure what that last meant.  "Alright, Wilhm.  Please ask Lord Hhrahld to send a report back with you this time."

Wilhm nodded in his glacial way and vanished again.

When the courier boat finally arrived another five minutes later, Magician-Pilot Thorbhist had a passenger.

"Sorry, I'm late, Coirneal," Thorbhist, a middle-aged former scribe, said as he grounded the rowboat on its stubby legs at the flattened top of the knoll.  "I had to wait for Nalhe to arrive."

Nalhe nh' Ghyl was a broad and heavy stevedore and one of the few in the Zhijj group, aside from it its leader, that Aerlon knew by sight.

"What has happened?" he asked right away.

"The monks are pulling out of Zhijj!" Nalhe enthused.  "There're only three legions left in the city.  The other eight made queues and one by one dashed into a warehouse.  They didn't come out and later the warehouse was empty, so they must have used some sort of sorcery to take them away.  The Shrike covey took off as soon as this was done, bearing most of the Phaelle'n civil officials."