John Dalmas - The Lion Returns

Macurdy smiled back at him, a smile that took life of its own and became a grin. "How about this evening? Can you get people together by then?"

"This evening after dinner. At my home. Varia hasn't returned from Aaerodh yet, but Talrie will see that we're properly fed and have clean bed linens. You will stay with me, of course."

Of the fifteen who met that evening at Cyncaidh's residence, three had come west with Lord Naerrasil, each of them making a point of shaking Macurdy's hand before they sat down. That raised Macurdy's eyebrows. He'd done more good than he'd realized, that afternoon.

He didn't get to bed that night till after two.

The next morning, Cyncaidh went to the palace at his usual hour, leaving Macurdy still asleep. After a bit, Talrie woke him. "Marshal Macurdy," he said quietly, "there is a gentleman in the foyer, waiting to see you. A Mr. Pellersson. Shall I invite him to breakfast with you?"

Macurdy sat up, gathering his wits. "Tossi Pellersson? Sure. And tell the cook that dwarves like big breakfasts." He swung his legs out of bed, hurried through his morning preliminaries, and pulled his clothes on. When he reached the breakfast room, Tossi was waiting there for him, drinking the usual ylvin sassafras with honey. He and his trade mission, Tossi said, were leaving that morning for the Diamond Flues-a four-week ride on dwarf ponies.

The two ate leisurely, food secondary to talk. Tossi had been up to see the sun rise. It had been as red and murky as the sunset. "It's of the Earth," Tossi said.

"What do you mean?"

"The sky has the smell of rock."

"Rock?"

"Aye. My people know the smell of rock. And not just with the nose. Something like this happens every few decades. Though rarely this strong, I think."

Macurdy let it pass. Mostly they talked of the old days, when Tossi and two younger cousins had mixed into tallfolk affairs to the shocking extent of taking part in the Kullvordi revolt. Then Macurdy told briefly of the evening meeting that had gone on till well after midnight.

Tossi grinned ruefully. "I wish I could help," he said. "But in the Diamond Flues we're far removed from the ylver and their troubles. My people will say the invaders will never come so far west, and they may well be right."

His eyes peered at Macurdy from beneath heavy brow ridges, crowned with thatches of coarse hair. "As for the folk in Silver Mountain-they're far more numerous than we are. The last I heard, they could call seven thousand to the surface, armed and ready. If they felt the need. But in Silver Mountain, their focus is on wealth even more than ours is. Ye'd have to convince them the invader is a threat, and I doubt even yew could do that."

Macurdy had already come to that conclusion. When they'd finished eating, Tossi got to his feet and thrust out a hand. "I hope our paths will cross again, Macurdy," Tossi said. "Yer more than a dwarf friend, ye know. Yer a brother to me."

Then he left for the inn where the others of his party had been staying.

Macurdy gathered his own things, then he and Vulkan took to the highway. Southward, to see what he could accomplish with the kings of the Rude Lands.

27 The Younger Brother

Prince Chithqosz was as tall as his elder brother, and to voitik eyes as handsome. What he did not have was Kurqosz's power and certainty, his ambition and focus.

Nor was he jealous. It was much easier to be the younger, lesser brother, occupied with his concubines and sketch pads, his blocks of marble, granite, and limestone; walnut, cherry, and linden. With his drills, chisels, knives, saws, files, and charcoal. He considered his sculptures superior, both in stone and wood, and in important respects they were. They were not inspired, but his craftsmanship was superb, and his eye for form and nuance excellent.

As a youth he'd wanted to be like Kurqosz, so he'd studied sorcery. Psionically he proved talented-the one indispensable requirement-and advanced with remarkable quickness through the levels. Until the work became demanding and exhausting. Then his interest sagged.

He was certainly not all his imperial father would have liked. But His Supreme Majesty, the Crystal Lord, might have settled for a sculptor in the family, had it not been for Kurqosz's dream-to someday reach Vismearc, conquer it for the Voitusotar, and punish the ylver. And when the exploration ship returned from Vismearc, the project changed from visionary and speculative to firm and dedicated. The Crystal Lord himself contracted research on a remedy for seasickness, while Kurqosz launched serious if somewhat dangerous research into new levels of sorcery.

To Kurqosz, his younger brother seemed the perfect collaborator; he had psionic skills, and was compliant. So he asked Chithqosz to be his assistant. And Chithqosz, who'd have preferred not to be, said yes. The younger genuinely and greatly admired the elder, who in turn was considerate, avoiding needless or arbitrary demands. In fact, Chithqosz's new duties did not greatly reduce his sculpting. Mainly they reduced his loafing.

Meanwhile their research was productive. First the time-honored use of "circles" was rationalized and systematized. Then they expanded their reach. New and more powerful effects became possible, admittedly with greater demands and stress, but now with less danger for the sorcerers. Chithqosz was proud of his role in it, and in his performance, which his elder brother praised.

It was the invasion itself that drastically changed Chithqosz's life. For the father ordered him to go along. Kurqosz himself would command the circle of masters, tapping energies and elementals too powerful to control with adepts. Meanwhile the two circles of higher adepts would manipulate lesser energies, to produce monsters and panics-the basic weapons of the new sorcery.

It could be necessary, from time to time, that one of the circles of adepts link with the circle of masters, to anchor it and stabilize its power. Which required a master to lead it, one who harmonized well with Kurqosz. The Crystal Lord assigned Chithqosz to the job.

For the first time in his life, Chithqosz seriously resisted. He was sure, he said, that at sea he would die. (The truth was, he had a low tolerance for contemplated discomfort.) His father pointed out that the years of herbal testing had provided a palliative which worked for almost all voitar, and insisted Chithqosz try it on a 130-mile, round-trip test voyage across the Ilroin Strait. To Chithqosz's dismay, though he felt queasy, he never once threw up. His father declared him perfectly suited, and ordered him to complain no further.

Actually Kurqosz had suggested to their father two other masters of suitable age who might be substituted. But the Crystal Lord had decided. Chithqosz, he said, needed to get out of the palace, take responsibility, and act like a prince. And of course Kurqosz gave way, as Chithqosz did.

As it developed, Chithqosz survived the sixty-four-day crossing of the Ocean Sea better than most of the voitar on the voyage. In fact, he was one of the handful who outlasted most of the symptoms. All but the medication's principal side effect, an enervating chronic diarrhea for which no useful medication had been found. Thus he ended the voyage proud of himself on the one hand, and on the other, determined that once back in Hithmearc, he would never, ever, set foot on a ship again.

After ordering seventy ships back to the Scrub Coast, Kurqosz assumed he'd taken care of matters there, and marched off to Colroi unworried. While ravaging the capital, he learned that the ships, those which hadn't been destroyed, had returned with their mission aborted.

He had instantaneous communication with the force left at Balralligh. Every headquarters, from battalion on up, had a voitu communication specialist, whose skills enabled him to quickly locate specific information in the hive mind. Thus Kurqosz was quickly informed when the fleet returned. Twelve ships had been lost, and others newly damaged by storm or fire.