The congruent king, p.30
The Congruent King, page 30
part #5 of Congruent Mage Series
“More than five hundred miles and less than a thousand, as far as I can tell,” said Celéri. “It isn’t easy to read the indicators precisely for talismans more than a hundred miles distant.”
“Has your sphere pointed consistently in that direction?” asked Pixo.
“I’m not sure,” said Celéri. “When I’m inside and can’t see the sun I’m not sure which direction is which. I thought it was pointing west for a while, but I may have been wrong.”
“Sailors know their orientation at all times,” said Pixo. “Didn’t your father teach you anything about that?”
“He died when I was five, as you well know,” said Celéri.
“Oh, yes, well—you’re right,” said Pixo. “Forgive an old man if he wants to forget a sad time.” He lowered his eyes for a moment then looked back up. “Did your mother or your wizard tutors teach you to read the stars, at least?”
“I read books on wizardry, not the night sky,” said Celéri. “I can recognize the Legionnaire with his three-star sword belt and the Big and Little Plows, but not much more than that.”
“Your education is sorely lacking then,” said Pixo. “Have Xaxidiánus name more stars and patterns for you on your flight. That old dragon knows them all—probably better than I do at this point.”
“I’m glad Callidus was willing to enlist the dragon’s aid on my behalf,” said Celéri. She smiled, knowing that she had effectively blackmailed Callidus into requiring Xaxidiánus to transport her. Neither of them had bothered to ask for the emperor’s approval. Imperial forgiveness, if needed, would be gladly granted once Celéri reported in with the allies’ new location.
“If you do find the allies—and more importantly, their supplies,” said Pixo. “Don’t allow yourself to be seen. They might move again.”
“Yes, Uncle,” said Celéri, using a tone only used by the young when addressing older relatives.
Pixo paused before replying, then decided to speak. “You might be able to save time by having Magister Callidus ad hoc gate you to the Tempest Isles. They’re almost eight hundred miles southeast of here. You could take a reading on your tracking sphere and see which direction your talismans are from there.”
“I don’t need Callidus,” said Celéri. “I’ve been to the Isles myself.”
“But you didn’t know how to ad hoc gate when you were there,” said Pixo. “Can you just remember a place where you’ve been before you developed your new ability?”
“Let me check,” said Celéri. She gated out and almost immediately reappeared again. “I can,” she said. “I went to a cabin by a river in western Dâron and back again. I didn’t know how to ad hoc gate when I was there initially.”
“Did you surprise anyone?” asked Pixo. “Is the river navigable?”
“No, and I don’t know—and don’t care,” Celéri answered. “Navigating rivers is your department. I just fly across them.”
“Understood,” said Pixo. “One last word of caution,” he added.
“What now?” said Celéri.
“Speak circumspectly,” said Admiral Pixo. “Sírénae has ears everywhere, and so does Umbrose. If you say it, they’ll know it.”
“I’m not worried about Sírénae—or Umbrose,” said Celéri. “They should be worried about me.”
“That’s what I mean,” said Pixo. “I’d rather sleep with a cobra than be heard speaking ill of the emperor or her spymaster.”
“I’m not you, Uncle,” said Celéri.
“True enough,” said Pixo.
“I’m going on dragonback anyway. They may be hiding farther east. Ring me if anything important happens while I’m gone,” said Celéri.
“Of course,” said Pixo. “Safe travels.”
“Don’t attack any more of our own ships,” said Celéri. She waved a hand to indicate her imminent departure and gated away without a further word.
* * * * *
Celéri rode on the back of Xaxidiánus as the dragon carried her through a cerulean sky above the dark green waves of the Ocean. The sun was halfway up to noon and his obsidian-colored scales shimmered and reflected a myriad of shades in its light as his measured wing beats drove them onward.
“Oh great and powerful one,” said Celéri. “Might it be possible to increase our rate of travel? I’m sure Your Magnificence is capable of more.”
Xaxidiánus snorted. “I have no need for flattery—I know my own measure. Say what you mean and say it plainly.”
“Uh,” said Celéri.
“Let me try,” said Xaxidiánus. “I suspect you wanted to say, ‘Come on, you big lizard. Can’t you go any faster?’” He turned his head around so he could see Celéri’s face. “Was that right?”
“Close enough,” said Celéri. “I’ll speak directly in the future.”
“Good,” said Xaxidiánus. “You probably read about dragons loving compliments in stories.”
“What human child hasn’t?” said Celéri.
“There’s something to those tales,” said Xaxidiánus. “I must be an exception, since I don’t trust them. Compliments only come my way when someone wants something from me.” The dragon turned his head back to face forward, allowing his clear nictitating membranes to slide down and protect his eyes again. “Callidus always tells me what he thinks without embellishments, and I’ve grown to appreciate it.”
“Well then, lummox, can you?” asked Celéri.
“Can I what?” replied Xaxidiánus.
“Go faster,” said Celéri. “The sooner I can confirm the location of the allies and their food supply, the sooner I’ll be an imperial hero.”
“You’re on this quest for fame, not fortune or duty?” asked Xaxidiánus.
“I’m interested in fame as a steppingstone to greater power,” said Celéri. “If the legions know that I am the one who found them bread and wine, I’ll win them to me.”
“Grab their bellies and their brains will follow?” asked Xaxidiánus.
“Something like that,” said Celéri. “Armies truly do march on their stomachs.”
“Dragons fight for the emperor and the legions for more pragmatic reasons,” said Xaxidiánus.
“Do tell,” said Celéri.
“It’s true,” said Xaxidiánus. “We can hunt for ourselves—or fish if it comes to that. But without the emperor’s protection, we are wild dragons, and thus targets of heroes across the four empires and Roma Mater province.”
“And Orluin,” said Celéri.
“Well, yes, Orluin as well. As soldiers in the emperor’s skies we can wreak havoc with thousands of spears on our side. Wild dragons have those same spears aimed at them,” Xaxidiánus continued.
“So you serve out of fear?” said Celéri.
“I fear nothing,” said Xaxidiánus. Angry puffs of black smoke rose from his nostrils.
“It sounds like you fear living free,” said Celéri. “You’d rather serve the emperor and prey upon her enemies than be prey for would-be heroes yourselves.”
Xaxidiánus flew on for several wing beats before speaking. “Perhaps that is one valid way of looking at it,” he said at last. “It’s a matter of our innate draconic nature versus what every dragon raised for the legions is taught in military creches from the day we first emerge from our eggs.”
“Dragons serve the Imperium?” asked Celéri.
“We serve our emperors and their designated commanders,” said Xaxidiánus. “Our power is greater than any single soldier, so our sense of duty must be stronger still.”
“Would you serve me?” asked Celéri.
“If ordered by the emperor,” said Xaxidiánus.
“Or asked by a friend like Magister Callidus?” asked Celéri.
“Yes,” said Xaxidiánus. “I’m here, aren’t I? Friendships can be stronger than formal commands.”
“May I be your friend?” asked Celéri.
“Time will tell about that,” said Xaxidiánus. “I’ve just met you and you’re very young.”
“I’m old enough to have ambitions,” said Celéri. “My friendship could be valuable to you in the years ahead.”
Xaxidiánus snorted again. Two more puffs of smoke rose from his snout—white ones this time.
“I’m not just ambitious, I’m powerful,” said Celéri. She heard a rumbling from the dragon’s throat. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Yes,” said Xaxidiánus. “You speak of being powerful—to a dragon.”
“I can cast lightning bolts and throw fireballs,” said Celéri.
“I can breathe fire and lightning, too,” said Xaxidiánus. “And frigid blasts as well.”
“But you can’t make ad hoc gates,” said Celéri.
“And you don’t have wings,” said Xaxidiánus. “Wizards aren’t dragons and dragons aren’t wizards. We each are what we are. I can’t cast illusions, but my fire can dispel them. You can make constructs of solidified sound and I cannot. Power is relative.”
“Speaking of relative power,” said Celéri. “Could you please fly faster, O Great and Powerful Xaxidiánus?”
The rumbling from the dragon’s throat intensified.
“I could,” said Xaxidiánus, “but I won’t. It’s hundreds of miles to reach the Tempest Isles. I flew almost that distance bearing Magister Callidus to Nova Eboracum not that long ago. If I fly faster now, I’d have to stop and feed on the way, catching a small whale or a dozen large fish, and then take time to digest my meal. As the old Athican saying goes, ‘Slow and steady wins the race.’”
“That story was about a tortoise, not a dragon,” said Celéri.
“And I’m flying a great deal faster than a tortoise can walk,” said Xaxidiánus. “I’ve planned out this trip to get you to the Tempest Isles in the shortest time I can manage. I’ll feed while you’re looking for your talismans.”
“You could have just said that to begin with,” said Celéri.
“You brought up your search for fame,” said Xaxidiánus. “I wanted to understand you better. Perhaps that’s the beginning of a friendship.”
“Perhaps, indeed,” said Celéri.
“If you can ad hoc gate, why don’t you jump to the Tempest Isles and see if your talismans are there?” asked Xaxidiánus.
It was Celéri’s turn to pause. “Because my uncle suggested it,” she said softly, knowing dragons have excellent hearing.
“Ah,” said Xaxidiánus. “So if a new friend made the same suggestion…?”
“Keep flying,” said Celéri as she unstrapped herself from her harnesses and stepped onto her flying disk. “I’ll be back.”
Xaxidiánus heard one pop, followed half an hour later by another. Celéri had returned. “Any news?” he asked.
“Here,” said Celéri, dangling a large green sea turtle in front of the dragon’s snout on a tendril of solidified sound. “I brought you a snack.”
“Thank you,” said Xaxidiánus as he crunched the shell and swallowed. “I sense this creature had a special significance.”
“The talismans were attached to its shell,” said Celéri. “I was lucky it was sunning itself on a beach near the great harbor instead of out at sea.”
Xaxidiánus didn’t laugh. “Are we turning around now?” he asked.
“You are,” said Celéri. “I’m gating back to the palace.” Pop!
Xaxidiánus laughed loud enough to sound like an approaching thunderstorm and draw the attention of a pod of dolphins cavorting on the surface below. “And to think,” he said, “this could have been the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
* * * * *
Umbrose obeyed an imperial summons and appeared in the emperor’s private study.
“We may have a problem,” said Sírénae.
“What sort of problem?” asked the spymaster.
“The listening device I have in that fancy saddle I gave to Xaxidiánus has captured—and sent me—a fascinating conversation,” said the emperor. “Listen.”
Some minutes later, Umbrose and Sírénae were smiling at each other.
“Does she remind you of anyone?” asked Sírénae.
“Both of us,” said Umbrose. “But without an iota of discretion.”
“We’ve got our work cut out for us to turn Celéri into a useful tool,” said Sírénae.
“Instead of a liability,” said Umbrose. He extended one hand and then the other. “Carrot or stick?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Sírénae. “The only real question is which approach to use first.”
Chapter 43
With the Seven Legions
The sun was two hours from setting over the Roma encampment on the west bank of the Abbenoth. Somewhere wood was being chopped and a hammer was pounding out dents in a shield, making a musical counterpoint to orders being shouted and soldiers responding with their usual grumbled protests. A sweet smell rose up from hickory logs on a fire.
Giérra, the legate with responsibility for the legions deployed against the Northern Clan Landers, climbed the hill to the stockade, glad that her own tent was inside it, not far from her commander’s. She cleared her throat outside Belisaria’s tent and announced herself. “Giérra reporting, Lieutenant General.”
“Come in, come in,” said Belisaria. “The quartermaster saved me an entire cup of third-rate Caledonian wine and I’ll share it with you.”
“Grapes grow in Caledonia?” asked Giérra.
“Not many,” said Belisaria. “After you have a taste of the wine, you’ll appreciate that’s not a bad thing.”
Neither woman moved to reach for the cup of wine resting on a wooden folding table between Belisaria’s camp desk and her cot.
“As you say,” said Giérra. “I’m so glad to be off the river. I like to have stable ground under my feet, not water.”
“If you’d wanted to be a sailor you would have joined the imperial navy, eh?” teased Belisaria. “We can leave sea battles—and river battles—to Admiral Pixo and his forces.” Belisaria stretched and returned her hands to her hips, with one resting lightly on the hilt of her gladius.
Giérra stretched as well, mirroring Belisaria’s motions and not quite successfully stifling a yawn.
“Stop that,” said Belisaria, covering her mouth to hide her own reflexive yawn. “I still have reports to write for the emperor before I can sleep. Has everyone been fed? Are the camps in order? The latrines dug? What about the elephants?”
“Yes, yes, yes, and they’re grazing,” said Giérra. “I think the big beasts are as glad to be back on land as we are.” She thumped her right fist on her chest and made her lorica jingle to indicate she was giving at least a somewhat formal update. “The troops have been fed, but it’s beans again and not a lot of them. The grumbling for meat is getting louder and our foragers have returned empty-handed. Half our forces are ready to charge up the mountains to find the barbarians’ stores and commandeer them immediately.”
“If we let them try, we’d lose half of them to the Northern Clan Lander’s traps,” said Belisaria. “Our advance scouts have been marking the locations of dozens of them so we can avoid them when we march north.”
“That’s what the foragers told me as well,” said Giérra. “We lost one of them to a log-smashing trap and had to waste healing potions on several others for less drastic injuries. What does our senior wizard have to say about his scouts?”
“Náegosh was none too pleased to be assigned to lead the wizards on our expedition,” said Belisaria. “Once he stopped grumbling, he told me two of his people haven’t returned as yet. I’m concerned they may have encountered barbarians hiding in ambush with crossbows.”
“Or Northern Clan Lander wizards?” asked Giérra.
“Could be,” said Belisaria. “The scout wizards that did return say there’s an excellent spot for our sort of battle a few hours north of here, east of a big lake. They said they saw warriors in kilts assembled on its western bank.”
“You think the barbarians are gathering to fight us on an open field?” asked Giérra. “That makes no sense, at least from what we know of their usual tactics.”
“It smells like a garum factory in midsummer,” said Belisaria. She sighed. Even beans were better with garum and we’re almost out of it, she thought. When we do run out, we’d better find something other than beans for the troops to eat or the legions may mutiny. Maybe it’s time to slaughter one of the elephants?
“I can’t figure out the trick to it, can you?” asked Giérra.
“No,” said Belisaria, “but I’m worried the two missing scout wizards did and paid a price for it.”
“I hope not,” said Giérra. “We’ll just have to be ready for whatever the barbarians throw our way.”
Three familiar chimes sounded in the tent. Both women looked at the rings on their fingers.
“It’s mine,” said Belisaria. “My connection to Machaera, probably to ask when my reports will be ready.” The lieutenant general expanded the relevant ring and saw Machaera’s face on the other side of its interface. She didn’t look pleased.”
“Ave, General,” said Belisaria.
“Ave, Belisaria. Giérra,” Machaera answered.
“I’ll leave,” said the legate.
“No, stay,” said Machaera. “You’ll want to hear what I have to say, too. I have good news and bad news.”
“I suspect more of the latter than the former from your expression,” said Belisaria. “What’s the good news?”
“You’re getting dragons,” said Machaera.
“How many?” asked Belisaria.
“Seven,” said Machaera.
Giérra winced.
“With that number of dragons, I can guess the bad news,” said Belisaria. “Please don’t tell me…”
