Iron war, p.26
Iron War, page 26
part #4 of The Jack of Magic Series
Finally, he explained, “This is the truth cube, but it behaves a little differently than the one you experienced in the Academy.” He hesitated, as if not wanting to speak, but then forced himself to continue. “It has direct feedback to the subject. It causes… excruciating pain if the subject lies.”
Portia’s mouth hung open. She looked around, and again, no one would meet her eye. “You’re torturing this prisoner.” It wasn’t a question.
Archmage Vermeil stepped forward, and after a nod of permission from his queen he spoke to Portia. “It’s not torture if he understands the consequences of lying and willingly does so. No one is forcing him to lie.” In the shadowy dim light of the room, Archmage Vermeil looked much older. Dark circles fell below his eyes, making them look even sadder than they usually did from their slight droop.
“It is not an ideal choice, but many lives of our citizens depend on finding out what we need to know,” said Queen Lorica. “Its use is only authorized in times of extreme need. This is an instance of extreme need.”
Portia’s stomach roiled. She didn’t want to be there. Gripping her hands into fists, she looked down and forced herself to concentrate on her breathing. Letting out an especially large breath, she relaxed her hands, looked up again, and nodded to her queen.
Portia sipped a mug of hot mead on the deck, willing her shivers to go away. She was sitting in full sunlight, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders, but she couldn’t get warm. She shivered, icy cold shooting through her body. Her ears burned from the inside out. The screams of the prisoner still rang within them. She shook her head and pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Ella and Mark came to her bearing a bowl of food. It was a hot meal of meat mush and a precious tiny orange. Portia reluctantly put down her cup of mead and took the plate. They sat down facing her, cross-legged on the deck, leaning forward to look down. Portia was grateful they did not stare.
Ella was white-faced. Her normally bubbly demeanor was gone. The prisoner’s screams had echoed through the enormous boat. The afternoon for those on deck had been an anxiety-ridden trial of listening to someone else’s suffering. No one had asked Portia what had been going on when she returned to the sunlit deck, her eyes still blinking from the darkness below. They had only shot her covert glances and whispered amongst themselves.
When Portia had first emerged from below, Mark had gone to sit next to her, shrugging off the hands that tried to keep him away. He had not asked any questions, instead sitting in silence next to her and staring out over the waves. After several hours, when the dinner bell rang, he had stood up and walked away. Dinner was still going on below decks when he returned with Ella.
Clearing her throat, Ella finally spoke. “The captain announced we are heading to a large splinter. They think that is where the rest of the Dragonoid fleet is.”
Portia nodded, staring down at her bowl as she took a small spoonful and raised it to her lips. She didn’t want to think about how she had heard the prisoner scream out the location of the splinter, how he’d pissed himself some more, and how she had been the one to ask over and over again in its hissing tongue for him to speak or else. At the thought of what “or else” had been, Portia put the spoon down, the food untasted. She pushed the bowl away.
Mark reached forward one hand and pushed the bowl back to Portia. He kept his hand there so she wouldn’t move it away again. “Eat. You must,” he said.
Portia shook her head.
“Eat, or all that creature suffered for today will pay for naught,” he said, an edge in his voice she had never heard before. Looking up, she saw his eyes bright with concern for her, but also an anger that burned behind them. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course not.”
“Then eat.”
Reluctantly, Portia pulled the bowl back into her lap and raised the spoon to her mouth, putting the food inside her lips and chewing the tasteless mass. Tears welled in her eyes. Her skin tingled. Sadness at the way of the world washed over Portia. She had not wanted the Dragonoid to be hurt, but if they did not act, hundreds of her kinsmen would die. The queen’s citizens would die, and more kingdoms would fall.
When she had been an orphan on the streets in Valencia, she thought there would be a safe place somewhere in this world, someplace where there was love and happiness for all. She hated learning that no place could have happiness without being willing to pay the price for it—the willingness to fight for it, to sacrifice, and to do the unbearable. She thought of all those who had fallen already in Rocabarra against the cult, deaths she had witnessed herself, and news she had heard about Jukhnovo from Iva and how she lost her entire family.
“I don’t know what you’ve done, but Magisend Lucy was almost bearable today,” a voice above Portia’s head said. Mia was standing over her, her hands on her hips. Of all the students, she looked the most composed.
“I think she’s realized we’re all in this together,” Portia mumbled around a mouthful of food.
“I doubt it. Still, she’s been nicer,” Mia admitted.
“Maybe it was all the screaming. Sorta adds to the atmosphere,” Liam said, joining them and attempting a light tone but not quite managing it. He too was slightly gray-faced.
Richard came and joined the group sitting around Portia. They talked quietly amongst themselves or just sat companionably while she finished her meal. Out of the corner of her eye, Portia saw Magisend Lucy and her two cronies sitting by the railing watching the group with narrowed eyes. Portia considered asking them to join the group, but exhaustion held her back. She didn’t have the energy to verbally spar with the girls from the cryomancy house right now. They would still be there tomorrow.
Thumping footsteps came towards them across the deck. Portia recognized the heavy walk. Archmage Vermeil stood in front of her, his arms crossed. “Can I have a word with you?”
“Sure,” Portia said.
“Alone,” said the dwarf.
Portia swallowed. She was exhausted and just wanted to rest with her friends, but Archmage Vermeil had a stubborn look on his face. She might as well get whatever he wanted over with.
Chapter 15
Portia and Archmage Vermeil walked along the railing on the edge of the deck of the enormous ship. It skirted around the entire circumference of the ship, only a few feet wide as it passed the buildings that comprised the upper-level decks and expanding out of the fore and aft, giving the sailors’ workspace a clear view to the horizons. Above them, a stiff wind whistled through the sails and the rigging, throwing the ropes against the mast and snapping the sails whenever the wind faltered and then resumed again. Portia had somehow thought the sea would be peaceful and quiet, not the cacophony of sound and wind this ship had.
Portia grabbed and then released the chain railing strung through posts that lined the very edge of the deck as she walked. Archmage Vermeil clasped his hands behind his back as he walked, mostly looking down at his feet and occasionally looking up to make sure they were not going to walk into anything. He needn’t have bothered. When the sailors and the guards saw them coming, they carefully drew out of the way of the pair. Portia’s skin crawled at the deference. Everyone was careful to give them space. No one could have mistaken them for being part of a larger group.
“Are you okay?” Archmage Vermeil asked.
Portia shook her head. Who would be okay after the day they had had?
“I’m not too well myself,” he admitted. “I know this is for my king, my people—”
“Your father,” Portia said.
The archmage glanced at her, and then back down. “Yes, for the archmage… my father. It doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I wish we had another way.”
“If we had more time, if not so many depended on us, if they had not had the cleverness to open another splinter.”
Portia stopped short. “At least we know they didn’t open a new one, just pushed open a weak one that was already there.”
The archmage stopped to face Portia. “That’s what he said.”
Portia looked at him, surprised. “You don’t believe him?”
“It’s possible he was telling the truth. It’s also possible he was not.”
“No, we had the truth cube. He was telling the truth,” Portia said, turning to resume her slow walk along the railing.
“There are ways to play with language, to tell a half-truth that can be taken as a full one,” the archmage protested.
Portia shook her head, and then she grabbed the rail more tightly this time and swung the chain that was hanging strung along it with all her might. It rattled all the way down its length along the deck, startling two soldiers behind them who were polishing their swords in the afternoon sun. They stared at Portia and Archmage Vermeil, concerned. She waved apologetically at them, and they lowered their heads slowly back to their tasks.
“No, not their language. It is too direct in everything. Much like the Dragonoids themselves. He was telling the truth,” Portia said bitterly.
“Well, then we can be grateful for that and for you having their language.”
“Do we have any more of them?”
“Languages?” Archmage Vermeil asked, confused.
“Prisoners. Did we rescue any more of them from the waters in the last battle?”
After a moment of silent walking, Archmage Vermeil answered. “Yes. Quite a few, I believe.”
“And they’re below decks?” Portia asked.
“Some. I’m not told everything.”
They continued their walk, turning around the front of the ship and now walking into the sun along the far side. Portia squinted and then turned around and walked backwards, the wind whipping her hair around her face. Archmage Vermeil pulled his hood down further and kept going forward, leaning into the wind to keep his balance.
“Speaking of things only you know,” he said in a deferential tone. “Would you consider writing down all your magic and putting it in a book for us?”
She turned and squinted at him, drawing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “For the dwarves?”
He nodded. “Yes, for our people and for Queen Morgani and… for our king who shall, with all our hopes and efforts, return.”
“Your king who went to go get weapons for the dwarves?”
He shrugged.
Portia turned away and stared out over the seas as she walked backwards. They continued onward past another group of soldiers who scrambled away, this time elves. She wanted to grab the elves who shied away from her and tell them it wasn’t her fault the prisoner was hurt, but they wouldn’t even make eye contact with her. She grabbed the railing even tighter, feeling the chain links pinching her skin when the chain moved.
“It would be good for there to be a record of all that you can do,” he said.
“Maybe. I think it depends on who gets that information,” Portia said. “I don’t know how useful this book would be since I am the only one who can do much of this magic. You can’t even hear the splinter music. Humans can’t do Elven magic, and even most elves cannot do the splinter healing. Who would this book be for?”
“History. And the next Jack after you who desperately needs this knowledge. Do you really think you will be the last one?”
Portia looked at him in alarm. The last Jack of Magic. There were two ways that could happen: one would be for humans to never have another crisis that would need a Jack of Magic, or two, for humans themselves to be no more. She was too cynical to believe humans would never have another crisis, but even she was not so hopeless as to think humans would disappear from their lands entirely. So, there would be another Jack. For that Jack—and for those that would depend on that Jack—she would write the book.
She should write the book.
Portia looked away, and then resumed walking forward with Archmage Vermeil keeping pace.
After several minutes, Portia finally spoke. “You have a point there, my friend. I will do it.” She looked out over the waters, avoiding his face. “I will write this book for you, but there will be copies also for the Elven kingdom, who has shared their magic with me already, as well as for the human kingdom. All should have this knowledge.”
Archmage Vermeil grimaced then nodded. “Very well.”
Portia stopped walking to look out over the sea. The waters shimmered and reflected the red sky of the setting sun. “I want to test opening another splinter. We listened to the music from one splinter—and Magisend Lucy wrote it down—but I want to try opening a splinter with it before we close the one the Dragonoid spoke off. I must know the music is correct. To not verify it is to risk not being able to ever open one to the Dragonoid world. We would be abandoning all our people trapped on the other side.”
“What would you do if the music was wrong and the new splinter didn’t open to the right place?” the archmage asked.
“Close it. Then listen to the splinter the Dragonoid spoke of, the one that opens to his world. We have to know the music exactly before we cut off all those people.”
The archmage didn’t look convinced.
“Morgani is not the only kingdom that lost people,” Portia said, pushing her point.
“No. It’s not me you’ll have to convince.” He glanced up at the royal deck high above them.
“I’m most likely our only hope of opening a splinter to their world and rescuing our people. What could be more important than that?” Portia asked, exasperated. “There is no other than me. The last Jack was half an eon ago. If we wait for another, our people will be long dead.”
He shrugged, and then nodded again to the royal deck.
“I hate politics,” Portia finally said when no other words came to her. She refused to directly criticize her queen.
“As do I,” said Archmage Vermeil. “We must trust they know what they are about.”
She squinted at him. Did they?
The wind whistling through the rigging did not have an answer for her. Looking around the deck and the soldiers scattered upon it, Portia brought herself back to the present.
“If those large Dragonoid ships are at the last splinter, we probably can’t defeat them with a direct battle,” she said, almost to herself. “We’ll have to do something sneaky like last time. We barely sank their three smaller craft.”
“Don’t talk too loudly,” the archmage warned, glancing about. “You might scare off the sailors that have to go into this battle.”
Portia folded her arms and considered their armada of one enormous Dwarven ship and the much smaller cutter ships of the Haulstatt navy.
Portia crossed and uncrossed her legs, unable to find a comfortable position. She was sitting inside the tent, using the top of the trunk Magisend Lucy had loaned her, as well as some parchment and ink. The sheet of music Magisend Lucy had written lay next to her. Portia grimaced as she looked down at her own shaky writing and then Magisend’s beautiful script. Stretching her writing hand, she shook her head; there was nothing to be done for it. She dipped the quill into the inkpot and slowly scratched out the next line. She hadn’t been sure where to start in writing the book, so she started with her ability to imitate other people in doing different sorts of magic. She could do anything she saw others do, just about, and that was the main difference between her and others. A fire-breather like Richard could watch others create ice all day and yet still be unable to do anything but breathe fire.
Stopping her writing, she cocked her head and listened. The ship had changed course towards the coordinates given by the prisoner. He had turned out to be a navigator, by luck or by astute observation of the soldiers who had grabbed him off the sinking ship. He had been huddled in the captain’s overlook of the Dragonoid vessel. Perhaps he had been the captain of the enemy ship too. If he had been, he had not volunteered that information to his interrogators.
While the ship was rushing through the waters towards their destination, the mages and students were on the deck practicing their magic to use in striking at the enemy vessels. If there were many Dragonoid ships at this new splinter location, they would need all the firepower they could muster to help support the two catapults on the Dwarven vessel, as well as the smaller catapults on the human ships. Some mages who were adept at cryomancy were also practicing dousing the deck with water just barely cold enough to freeze. This was to be used on their own ships if the enemy struck at them with fire. The chilled water would help put out any burning wood.
Professor Aelric was working with two advanced mages from the Academy to create a decoy version of the Pearl. It took a tremendous amount of energy to create the illusion, and the phantom ship itself did not look quite solid, but at first glance it would fool the enemy. Their fleet would not look quite so outnumbered to their foe if indeed there were two enormous Dragonoids vessels waiting for them, just as there had been at the Well of Tears.
For Portia, the writing was slow work. She paused, taking a break from her work to look down at the sheet music Magisend had written out and hummed the tune, trying to fix it firmly in her memory. Still, something clenched at Portia’s gut every time she got to the middle passage. Something about it did not seem quite right. Her mind wanted to skip some notes through that strain. The notes felt superfluous, as if they didn’t belong. It took all of her concentration to force herself to sing those notes. Her brow pinched as she thought of Magisend Lucy’s adamant words that it was correct.
No matter how much she tried to talk herself into thinking it was, it didn’t feel correct.
Stretching her neck, Portia put the music down and addressed herself again to her task of writing down her book. She decided she would write five more pages and then allow herself time to get out and stretch and practice her sword. She looked over at the weapon sitting on top of her pack and patted it.
“Do you need a moment alone?” Mark asked from the open tent door with a smirk. He jerked his head in the direction of the weapon.
