Warrior (The Key to Magic) (23 page)

In an instant that was outside of time, Mar's shock blazed into rage and he manipulated the flux in an instinctive counterattack.  Enclosed suddenly in cascading waves of putrid purple light, the assassin burst into a column of green flame and was dead before he had a chance to scream.  Another savage thought cast the still blazing corpse into the night sky.

Mar fell to his knees, rolled Phehlahm over, and then pressed his right hand into the blood pumping from the ceannaire's chest, waggling the stump of his left arm as he tried to use the hand that was not there.  The young marine's eyes were shut and his face slack. He did not appear to be breathing.

Mar had done this before.  He had saved Ulor.  He could save Phehlahm.

But then his heart went cold.  A quick delve of the flux of the marine's physiology made it instantly clear that he could do nothing to save him.  The marine ceannaire's natural ethereal modulations were of the sort that Mar had never successfully manipulated..

Then the blood stopped coursing through his fingers and he knew that Phehlahm was dead.

THIRTY-THREE

143rd Year of the Reign of the City

Thirdday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Fall of the Empire

Old
City
Sewers, Khalar

Getting out of the sewers proved much harder than getting in.

"The street looks clear, my lord," Khraake called down.  "No armsmen on patrol.  All of the buildings are shut up tight.  Don't even see anyone peeking from the windows."

The legate stood precariously on the shoulders of Lhot, a balancing act that had taken a good while and a lot of cursing to accomplish, so that he could peer out the gutter opening at the top of the cavernous main sewer tunnel. 

Purhlea stood waist deep in the center of the channel, using his good arm to steady Lhot.  "How about the cover?  Can you raise it?"

Lhot wavered a bit as Khraake's booted feet pressed down heavier for a moment.

"No, my lord.  It's bolted down."

"Come down then."

Khraake managed to dismount Lhot's shoulders in a wobbling fashion that would have shamed even a tyro acrobat, but did so without falling face down in the flow.

Already the dim twilight made by the light coming down through the street drains had darkened.  A good hour's sloshing through the feeder tunnels had brought them here without problem, but they had discovered that the main tunnel pitched downward and became completely filled only a hundred paces to the south, preventing them from moving any further toward the river.

Purhlea had already taken a chill from wading through the sewage and his arm hurt abominably, but it did not appear that they were going to be able to find an exit in the short term.

"It will be pitch black in here when the sun goes down," Purhlea told them.  "Let's get out of this muck and see if we can find a reasonably dry place to hold up until dawn."

A narrow brick ledge that was submerged only a fingerlength or so ran along one side of the tunnel.  He sloshed over and climbed up upon it.  Khraake and Lhot quickly joined him.  Twenty or thirty paces upstream the ledge looked to emerge completely.

"This way.  There might be a wider spot where we can try to rest."

After a few dozen steps, Purhlea came to the opening of another branch tunnel that ran in an easterly direction.  With an elevated bottom that formed a small waterfall, this tunnel was much smaller than the main but still tall enough to walk upright in.  A wider and dryer ledge went up this.

"Is that light up there?" Lhot asked, leaning out to peer into the branch.

 Khraake moved up beside him.  "I think so.  My lord viceroy, it could be a way out."

"Let's have a look."  Just in case, Purhlea drew his sword, frowning at the squelching noise that it made as it came from his fouled scabbard, and climbed through to lead the way.  The other two likewise armed themselves.

After twenty paces, the branch began to make a very gradual turn to the north and the light that Lhot had perceived became more pronounced.  Purhlea stopped when the light resolved itself into an arched opening lit from within.  The steady yellow nature of the light suggested a stationary lamp and the relatively clean mortar and newer looking brick of the opening suggested that it had been cut into the tunnel quite recently.

"That has to lead into a cellar," he whispered to the others.   "We go in slow and quiet.  At all costs, we have to keep any door from being slammed in our faces."

When he had crept to the edge of the opening, he distinguished voices above the background whisper of the water coursing through the tunnel.  He signaled the legate and the guardsman to be still and tried to catch what was being said.

"... all the...out of the...but has left the Lower City..."

The first voice was male, but otherwise nondescript.

"...Plaza...and what about the...?"

This voice was also male and one that Purhlea thought sounded familiar.  He risked poking his head out to get a look with his eye.  A short, dry passage sloped sharply up to an open, thick-plank door.  With the source of the light out of sight to the left, no one was visible in the stone-walled room beyond.  Trying to make no sound, he slid around the corner and crept up to the door.

"... and the Library is sealed," the first voice said.  "I talked to an acolyte of the Temple of Mhokh who said that armsmen of the Imperial Army had barricaded themselves inside, but I have no confirmation of that.  Our source in Hwraldek's household says that an official proclamation of the Council of Patriarchs will be issued in the morning, naming Hwraldek as interim viceroy."

The second voice said, "Has there been any mention of purges?"

Purhlea was sure of it now.  That was Erskh, titular Grand Commandant of the Viceroy’s Personal Guard.

"None," the first voice replied.  "It seems that the whole Privy Council is involved, but none of them are openly participating."

"No overtures were made to me," Erskh mused.  "My exclusion can only mean that they did not believe my cooperation necessary.  Complete the preparations for my escape from the city.  I want to be able to leave at a moment's notice."

Purhlea turned about and signaled Khraake and Lhot to come up and then stepped through the door and immediately pivoted left.   

Walled in moldy stone, the cellar room was five spaces square and bare save for the simple table that held up the lamp.  A narrow stairway led upward in the far corner.  Erskh, dressed in lounging robes of white and crimson, and his unnamed fellow, whose rough shirt, trousers, and boots were, like Purhlea's and the two guardsmen's, smeared with filth from tramping through the sewers, stood alongside the table.

Purhlea's entrance shocked the two men into silence.  Erskh's jowly face blanched.

"Make no alarm," Purhlea warned, advancing to point his sword squarely at the Grand Commandant.

"Oh, oh... uh... uh...
Lord Purhlea!
... uh...
thank
the Forty-Nine that you are
alive
, my lord viceroy!  Word has been spread that you had been killed in the riots!"  

"Lhot, secure the stairs," Purhlea ordered.  The guardsman, keeping his eyes and sword on the two men, moved around the wall to take up the position.

Erskh flicked his eyes back and forth, his breath coming in short gasps, and then he steadied and declared, "My lord viceroy, we must immediately rally our loyal forces and drive the usurpers out!"

"So, you claim to be not part of the plot?"

"Of course not, my lord viceroy!  I am a faithful servant of the Emperor!"

"Then why have you not raised any resistance against Hwraldek?"

"Ah, with the, ah, festival and riots, yes, with the riots, I have been unable to contact any of the Guard units.  Moreover, the streets of the Old City are controlled completely by armsmen in the pay of the Patriarchs and they have enforced a ban on all travel.  My loyal servant here, Bhyaestimys, has slipped about beneath the city to bring me information but has had no success in contacting any of the ranking officers.  As far as we know, all the Guard posts have been shuttered.  I fear that Hwraldek's thugs have imprisoned or murdered all of the guardsmen that were in the Old City."

"What of those in the Lower City?"

"I have had no word on those at all, my lord viceroy, but with the rioting, I must believe that they have all been carried away."

"How many armsmen do you have in the house?"

"None, my lord viceroy.  There are only the servants and my wife and youngest son."

"You have a sword?"

"Yes.  Ah, that is, it is mostly decorative, but, well... ah, yes."  Erskh began to look apprehensive.

"You can fetch it presently.  Any other arms in the house?"

"Only kitchen knives.  My lord viceroy, surely you do not intend to lead your two men and I in an assault on the rebels?  While that would be most courageous, would it not be better to retreat from the city and raise a loyal force in the countryside?  Bhyaestimys is a veritable master of the underground spaces of the Old City and can lead us through the sewers to a concealed exit that will allow us access to a boat --"

Purhlea cut Erskh off.  "First, we are going to bind up our wounds, then we are going to gather up any men that we can.  Bhyaestimys, I overheard you to say that there are armsmen in the Library.  Do you know an underground route that will take us there?"

"Yes, my lord, I think so."

"Fine, we will head there first. 

THIRTY-FOUR

The Monolith was ablaze with light and all her anti-skyship polybolos fully manned.  Uncharacteristically wearing chainmail and hefting an iron shod staff, Master Khlosb'ihs met Mar on the ancient bridge dock with all of his marine officers and a number of the workmen from the skyship yards.  All the workmen were armed, though in the case of many that often meant simply whatever club had come to hand.

Not bothering with the ramp that Ulor was having put out to take off Phehlahm's body, Mar flew over to meet the obviously troubled shipwright and the agitated group surrounding him.

"Have you had any other word from Khalar?" Mar asked immediately.

"No, my lord king.  Ihlvoh returned just a hour ago to say that he could not find Vice-Captain Mhygaeus where he had left him off.  In fear for his safety, I've forbidden him from returning to Khalar."  He indicated the commander of the marine brigade.  "Captain Khor'landt has readied his marines to move at your word.  We'll have a sailed Number class skyship that will be ready to fly within six hours.  I'm sure we can get better than a full troop aboard.  With Ihlvoh at the helm, the transport can reach Khalar is under seven hours after that."

Mar's expression tightened.  "Where's Ihlvoh now?"

"Sleeping, my lord king."

Mar glanced over to where six marines under Ulor's direction were bearing Phehlahm's shroud-wrapped body ashore.  "Keep him here.  I don't want him anywhere close to any fighting.  Do you understand?"

Looking slightly taken aback at the harshness of Mar's tone, Khlosb'ihs said, "I'll make sure of it, my lord king.   I have a ship master named Phoyslig who's volunteered to sail the new skyship.  He should be able to reach Khalar in no more than twenty hours.  Less, if the winds cooperate."

"Make the preparations, but hold them here until I send for them."

"Aye, my lord king."

All of Khlosb'ihs' officers came to attention as the bier was carried passed.  One of the bearers was E'hve, who contrary to Mar's fears, had been found unharmed and asleep in his bunk.  In spite of the fact that Mar had laid the blame solely at the feet of the Brotherhood, the subaltern had seemed to have taken on the responsibility for Phehlahm's death.

"You lost a man, my lord king?" Khlosb'ihs asked quietly.

"Phehlahm.  He took an assassin's thrust that was meant for me."

"I am sorry, my lord king.  He was a faithful and brave man."

Thinking that the same empty-sounding -- at least to him -- eulogy would be offered up for all of the men and women that would die for their king, Mar did not reply.

THIRTY-FIVE

Telriy watched from the steerage deck as the
Empress Telriy
descended toward the Palace.

Lord Ghorn, her every watchful and unsmiling sentinel, said, "The king's skyship is not at its moorings."

Telriy closed her eyes briefly to seek through the ether, focusing beyond the blazing light song that was her unborn daughter.  When she did not sense the trumpeting beacon that was Mar, she confirmed, "He isn't here."

"The king may have gone out to do battle with the monks," Lord Ghorn speculated.  "Captain Thylbr said that he often raids into Bronze."

"We may be too late," Telriy told him, unable to restrain the rush of unreasoned despondency that overcame her.  The reins of her emotions had grown frayed as her belly grew.  Gran had once told her that childbearing could make some women erratic, but had never thought that such would happen to her.

"Not possible," the Prince-Commander stated as if this fundamental truth were written on the foundations of the world.  "He will return to Mhajhkaei and to you."

"You believe that?"

"I would not have crossed half the world to find you if I did not."

Telriy rolled her shoulders in a weak shrug.  She had resolved not to be seen behaving like some love-sick girl rushing back to her gallant.  Gran had said, "Love isn’ real," and Telriy knew this to be a fact.  Love was a merciless fever that sickened silly-minded fools and made them do stupid things.

Then her daughter kicked and she placed her hands on her belly to delight in the experience, letting her worries fade from her mind.

As soon as they had come within range, Captain Thylbr had ordered a signalman to flag the Palace to announce the identity of his passenger.  Telriy let Third Officer Keiarh, who had shown with unmistakable clarity that he needed the practice, bring the big skyship down to the mooring platform.  The former scholar rose to the occasion and nudged the vessel up against the dock with hardly a jar.