Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (31 page)

As far as Marik was concerned, the king could take
that sentiment and line the manure carts with it.  But as a professional
mercenary, he refused to back down after he had been given the opportunity to
teach the royal council about real warfare.  He returned every one of Tybalt’s
biting comments with one of his own, flung Delano’s supply concerns back into
his face, responded to Celerity’s inquiries as politely as possible, answered
Bronwen’s few observations with view points from the other side of the fence,
and elaborated on details to prove to the seneschal that each idea had been
carefully pondered for its possible consequences.

When the frontlines against the enemy ground forces
were thoroughly discussed, Marik dropped the carton of eggs called Wyverflies,
which none of the field reports mentioned.  The first knowledge of them came
from a prisoner interview that Dietrik passed along.  Marik had set the
enclave’s scryers to working endlessly until they finally caught glimpse of
one, confirming the story and raising a thousand new questions.

He explained their role.  Primarily, they were scouts
who could fly above the enemy, seeing supply lines, troop movements…anything of
interest.  In a pinch they could serve as combatants by dropping items such a
clay pots filled with burning oil or other lightweight objects.  Shaped mostly
like massive dragonflies, they were not as serious a threat as might be
feared.  They required caves to live in sixteen hours out of every day. 
Without proper quarters, they had suffered and slowly started dying out during
the Tullainian campaign.  How many were left were undetermined, but too few to
mount a secure scouting watch over the entire border.  Also, they still had the
Tullainian/Perrisan border to guard as well.  Their resources were stretched
thin.

But try telling these people that.  First they
questioned the very truth of it, coming close to calling him an outright liar
on several occasions.  Once Celerity called in four separate scryers from the
enclave’s tower to back up his assertions, they insisted on panicking until
Ulecia ordered a light dinner brought in.  During the meal the councilors had
quiet time to consider the matter in private without each other’s words feeding
their own blazing imaginations.

Tybalt, swallowing a last mouthful of bread, issued an
order for three of his staff to immediately travel to Trask’s camp and question
all Traders-speaking prisoners.  The man looked ready to follow after them
until Raymond made it plain that he intended for Marik to make a full report
before any actions by the council were considered.  The marker candles burned
down another notch before Marik’s assertions were accepted not on faith as much
as a tenuous acknowledgement that a floating twig was better to grab onto in a
raging flood than nothing at all.

Celerity, who knew most of what he did since she spent
time with the enclave each day, always prompted the next subject.  Once the
Wyverflies were beaten to death, she guessed what he meant to speak on last. 
Only one major element remained.  Once she asked the question, a palpable
silence fell over the room.  Tybalt and Delano were as mute as the rest,
waiting to see what would come.

Word of the impossibly floating mountain had spread
among those with the highest rank.  Marik had no idea if the council had
succeeded in keeping its existence solely within their own members.  The
servants in the hallways spoke on many topics but he had yet to hear tales of
such a juicy subject as that would provoke.  It would seem that few enough
still held onto the secret.

Marik hopped the council table with his display to the
frowns of everyone excepting the royal pair.  He wanted them to be able to see
his scribblings which was why he pulled it to the hollow space in the table’s
center, fifteen feet from the king.  His display perched over the mosaic stones
representing the Southern Road while he towered like a heathen sea god above
the south ocean.  A quick movement tossed off the cloth draping the formerly
blank canvases perched on an artist’s easel, all of which he had confiscated
from the palace’s court painter that morning.

“The big questions you’ve been asking,” Marik declared
to the councilors, “is, ‘what in the hells is that’, and ‘what is it for’. 
‘How is it floating in the air’ usually comes on the heels of the first two. 
The first two questions have a definite answer.  This mountain is the vessel
that brought the Arronaths, their Wyverflies, their Taurs, the whole damned lot
of them in fact, across the ocean.  At its peek speed it can make the same
progress as a merchant ship with a full load of goods.

“Every Arronath prisoner we questioned calls it the
Citadel.  Or,
a
Citadel.  The implication is clear that this isn’t the
only one.  Their army is vast, and the forces that crossed the sea represent
merely a small portion of it.”

He paused, waiting for contradictions.  Surprisingly,
the air remained quiet.

“The numbers still aren’t set in stone, but it seems
capable of carrying the entire Galemaran army and beyond.  How much it can
carry depends on how much of that floating mountain is hollow.”

“Last I heard,” Delano finally spoke out, “it was
moving.  Moving in our direction.”

“That’s right,” Marik confirmed.  “There are still
several theories why.  It could contain most of their supplies, making it an
ideal depot.  One you can move and is invulnerable to attack.  It might house
the remaining soldiers who aren’t stationed around Tullainia or on active
duty.”

“It could also be massive weapon,” Rancill threw in. 
“If they have the ability to lift a mountain in such a manner, what other
advanced achievements have they reached?  What unfathomable magics could they
unleash from there if such attacks are dependant on the mountain being close to
their targets?”

“While possible,” Celerity answered, “that is also
less likely than must seem to you.  Or others who are unfamiliar with the
natural laws of magic.”

“With a defiance of all ‘natural laws’ before our eyes
already, how—”

Marik cut him off.  “In this instance, Chief Mage
Celerity knows what she’s talking about.”  He winced as soon as the words left
his lips.  That had come out completely wrong.  “What I mean to say is that
there is only so much magic that can take place in any single given location before
the available energy supplying the magic is completely spent.”

“Then how can
that much
magic exist at all?”
Delano demanded, pointing at Marik’s crude sketch of the Citadel floating over
the ground.  “It seems to me, with my
limited
knowledge of magic, that
there is an awful lot of it taking place to lift that…that chunk of rock. 
Basic supply and demand should mean that the available supply, no matter where
you are, would never meet the excessive demand to accomplish that!”  He folded
his arms across his chest.  “Or am I completely mistaken in my simple man’s
view?”

“No, you aren’t,” Marik told him.  It surprised the
quartermaster into unfolding his arms.  “The last question, of how they did it,
has left everyone scratching their heads.  It should be impossible under
ordinary circumstances.  Even under extraordinary circumstances.  Every mage in
the enclave kept looking harder and harder for the fantastic magics that the
Arronaths were employing.  When they didn’t find it, they kept raising their
gaze higher still, hoping to see it.”

Celerity bore a steely cast to her eyes.  He ignored
it. 
They
, after all, had been the ones far too clever to see the
answer.  On the other hand, he noticed Raymond nodding very slightly.  The king
must have already seen where Marik was going.

“How they accomplished it is far simpler than it would
appear.  As any in the enclave could tell you, did tell you I expect, geomancy
would be the ideal talent to use for lifting a stone into the air.  But when it
comes to geomancy, there are really two different approaches that one can take
to accomplish the end result.  Most ignore the second way.  Geomancers in
Galemar, in all the kingdoms on Merinor, hardly ever make use of the part of
their talent that allows them to contact elemental spirits.”

Eyebrows lifted at that statement.  Rancill asked,
“Are you suggesting a ghost is haunting that mountain, or—”

“No!  An elemental spirit is a creature that has never
been anything other than an elemental spirit.  It was born that way, same as a
rabbit was born as a rabbit.  But they are born in tune to a particular
elemental energy type. They have no physical bodies the way you and I do.”

“I know something of this,” Joletta, of all people,
announced.  “However it is my understanding that they are flighty creatures. 
Unreliable and prone to wandering off at any time.”

“Like a horse?” Delano asked with a sarcastic bite.

“If that helps you picture them, yes,” Marik shot at
him.  “Unlike a horse though, they have very limited strength.”

“Then how could they possibly accomplish such a feat?”
Tybalt demanded.  “I assume that is the conclusion you expect us to draw.”

“It is not them so much as their superiors.  Working
with the spirits is usually harder effort than it is worth for the result. 
Except that among the elementals are creatures known as lords.  We know very
little about them because they are incredibly dangerous to approach.  What we
can assume without much risk of faulty logic is that whatever the elemental
spirits are capable of, the lords can accomplish on a far larger scale.  So if
we make the simple conclusion that the Arronath geomancers have perfected a
method for making contracts with elemental lords without being killed in the
process, then many ‘impossibilities’ suddenly become possible.”

“Such as?” Raymond inquired while Celerity kept her
professionalism enough to evaluate the theory.  “It still remains a question of
generating the power to move a mountain.”

“Only if you keep thinking along the usual lines, your
majesty,” Marik replied.  “With an elemental lord in the game, there are other
ways you can achieve the same end with different means.”

“Means that require less strength of magic,” Ulecia
observed.

“Again yes, your majesty.  Elemental spirits of air
can lift a stone off the ground by focusing their powers through the air
surrounding the rock.  Solidifying it, making the air like a glove wrapped
around the rock and forcing it to move wherever the spirits want it to go. 
That requires most of the strength a spirit of air can manage.  Yet a spirit of
earth, and the records are clear on this,” Marik stated boldly, meeting
Celerity’s eye, “does it in a completely different manner.  The earth spirit
changes the very nature of the rock until it is lighter than the air around
it.  It adjusts the elemental aura contained within the stone the way a sponge
can change depending on how much water you pour over it.  This is far less
taxing on the earth spirit than the air spirit doing the job its way.”

He removed the first canvas, revealing the second
display behind it.  This also contained a crude sketch of the hovering
Citadel.  Marik had added several arrows pointing away in various directions. 
With each remark, he pointed at a different arrow.

“If you accept that the simplest possibility is the
likeliest solution, then that’s how they lifted the mountain.  That’s also how
they move it.  An elemental earth lord, or several of them if there are more
than one, altered the nature of the stone in the entire mountain.  Here at the
bottom, the stone is lighter than the air.  Here at the very top, the stone
must be heavier to keep it at a constant level and not rising upwards forever. 
As for how it moves, that is simply a matter of temperature.”

“Meaning what, pray tell?” Tybalt said.  He was out of
his depth and wary of calling Marik down on such uncertain footing. 
“Temperature?”

“That’s right.  The exact composition of the stone
depends on the exact state of the air it is in contact with.  Our geomancers
assure me that air is not simply air in every place at every time.  Warm air is
lighter, rising rapidly and expanding.  Like steam.  Cold air is heavy, sinks
to the ground and is compact.  Like ice.  And it changes all day long.  If the
stone is lighter than normal air, then the changing air temperature around it
would keep bobbing it up and down constantly.  In order to keep the Citadel at
a consistent level during the day, there
must
be controls available to
the Arronathian geomancers that allow them to adjust the composition of the
stone throughout the entire structure.”  Marik paused to rest his tongue.  He
hated having to talk in mage-speak.

“Why not simply have these spirit lords in charge of
keeping it steady?” asked Rancill.  “That would be the far simpler approach.”

“Except that forcing a spirit to a single task for
such a protracted period would be increasingly difficult,” Celerity answered. 
“Merely contacting an elemental lord is a thought that makes my spine shudder. 
I would have no desire to test my luck by asking it to bondage itself to my
service indefinitely.”

“That still leaves the question of movement
unanswered,” Tybalt demanded.

“It would be the same application that keeps it in the
air,” Marik supplied.  “You change the nature of the stone until one side is
lighter.  Then a team of geomancers within the Citadel alters the air outside. 
They can heat the air to make it rise up right in front of the stone in the
direction they want to go.  If the stone is lighter, then it will naturally
want to rush in to fill the space where the old air was faster than new, cooler
air from the other sides.  Eventually, that would start pulling the Citadel
along with it.  It wouldn’t be perfect but in time it would suck the behemoth
into motion.  Once a thing that massive finally started moving, it would keep
on going for the hells own distance before it finally came to a stop.  It would
only require minor support from the geomancer team inside to keep it going for
as long as you wanted.”