“Ain’t much else to work with.”
“Why don’t you try writing?”
“I’m a better weaver than I am a scribbler.”
“Yes, my friend, you are.” Kamiskwa handed him a new disk. “But you have worked at writing because writing is necessary for the man you are becoming. So is learning to anchor a spell.”
“Right, soes I can anchor all sorts of killing into things.”
“I actually think the crowned bear-salmon would likely distract someone.” Kamiskwa laughed.
Nathaniel sighed. “Alright, but don’t you go complaining about my penmanship.”
“I won’t, my brother.” Kamiskwa looked out into the night where Nathaniel was certain he could see a glowing city and golden woman standing in a tower window. “You must make patterns, and I must break them, and only in this way can we save the world.”
Prince Vlad waved his visitors to a pair of chairs in the thaumagraph office. Msitazi and Ezekiel Fire sat, each man nodding respectfully to the other. “I wish to thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I shall be very direct, if you don’t mind. Please know I have the utmost admiration for the both of you.”
He looked at the Shedashee. “Msitazi, you said I needed to learn as much as the Norghaest did. I believe I understand what they have learned, and have shaped a plan to deal with it.”
The Altashee chief clapped his hands together. “I had no doubt.”
“What I have learned of myself is that I know far too little of what the Norghaest know. Their power is incredible. I need to know how to counter it. I need to know what the two of you know of magick, and I have a handful of days to master it.”
Fire shook his head. “No, Highness.”
Vlad stiffened. “Steward Fire, please recall that I rescued you from death, placing myself, my friends, and my family at risk of the same sentence. I am out here with a small force facing the greatest threat we have ever discovered on this continent. If we fail here, nothing will stop the Norghaest from taking all of Mystria and advancing over the rest of the world. For you to withhold what you know is not acceptable.”
Msitazi raised a hand. “I think, Prince of Mystria, you mistake what he has said.”
Fire nodded. “You don’t kneed to know what we know, or to master it. You merely need to know how to undo what the Norghaest do.”
“I do not have time to argue semantics, Steward.”
“It is not the game of words, Highness.” The Shedashee smiled. “You already know what you need to know. In the next six days, we will simply teach you how to do it well.”
Chapter Fifty-nine
4 June 1768 Octagon Richlan, Mystria
Prince Vlad took a deep breath as he strode to the chosen spot. He’d pulled on the uniform he could, by rights, wear in his capacity as Governor-General of Mystria. Though he would have much preferred to don the simple green coat and buff trouser worn by the Mystrian Rangers, he chose the white uniform with gold buttons and braid, full with a gold satin sash and gold satin waistcoat beneath it. Because snow still fell in thin curtains, or curled up off the ground, chased by winds, he had donned the corresponding cape and a tall white hat, with a plume up over his right ear, which made him look every inch a popinjay.
On the journey from Fort Plentiful, he had spent many long hours in conversation with Steward Fire and Chief Msitazi. Their discussions had confirmed many of the things he had thought to be true, and had opened doors for him to yet other realizations. The two men also learned from each other. A bond formed between them which pleased the Prince, but made him feel excluded, since they understood things between them which he was never sure he would fully comprehend.
The key thing which they both pointed out was that perception could become reality provided one put enough energy into making it so. He’d seen that in politics many times, in situations utterly divorced from magick. Men standing for office, or officers writing their memoirs, would create a picture which, naturally, elevated themselves and usually ran someone else down. The late Lord Rivendell’s book The Five Days Battle of Villerupt had left many people on either side of the ocean believing that Mystrians were incompetent cowards. Not only did that breed contempt into many Norillians, but it inspired shame in many Mystrians. One man’s poorly written and quite fictitious account of a war had caused people to think less of their own capabilities.
Similarly, the fact that most Mystrians came from redemptioneer or criminal stock sent to Mystria in an effort to rid Norisle of undesirables meant that many Mystrians thought themselves inferior to their cousins back in the Home Islands. While Prince Vlad certainly saw little evidence that this idea had any validity, the deference paid to Norillians by Mystrians-even on this expedition-proved that others held it as true. On top of that, Mystrians and Norillians alike obeyed him or Count von Metternin simply because they were nobility. They were primed to feel inferior, and Prince Vlad had to use that.
Because magick could transform perception into reality in a very material sense, a strength of will and confidence aided a magick user. Prince Vlad’s mentors encouraged him to think of himself as being Rufus’ better. Though Prince Vlad didn’t believe Mystrians were of a subrace, he did invest himself in the idea that Rufus was his inferior. What he knew of the man indicated that he was lazy, selfish, stupid, treacherous, a poisoner, given to drunkenness and wife-beating, and Rufus clearly had run after he tried to murder Nathaniel Woods. That marked him as him a coward. There was no doubt in Prince Vlad’s mind that he was morally superior to Rufus, and well beyond him intellectually.
This last point became a key for Prince Vlad. He accepted that somehow Rufus had opened himself to being possessed or controlled by another creature. That the Norghaest had magick which could enable possession was obvious given the way the cavalry controlled their wooly rhinoceri. No matter how powerful the sorcerer controlling Rufus might be, he would be limited by Rufus. Vlad was certain he could think faster than Rufus, and that he could understand concepts more complex than Rufus could. He counted on both of these things to give him an edge over his enemy.
At the chosen spot, Vlad dug down through the snow with his feet so he stood on bare ground. In learning about magick and perception, again it had become obvious that spells were shaped to transform magickal energy into something that men could control. This was all done through imagery. Visualizing the sun and its heat would allow a man to take magickal energy and alter it into the form he needed to start brimstone burning. Because men drew this energy from themselves, magick exhausted them and hurt them.
But magickal energy could be drawn from elsewhere. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, Vlad calmed himself and sought within. He sought a feeling, a tingle, the sharp crack of a static spark. He visualized it as lightning at first, then changed it into a sunbeam, which he changed again into a cool flowing stream. Once he defined that image, he sought it again, imagining that cool flow passing over his feet, as if he stood in the middle of a stream.
Which, in fact, he did. Thanks to Owen’s survey of the area, the Prince had selected a nexus point where two of the energy flows met. Though much smaller than the flow coursing around the Octagon, it sent a cold sensation up his spine. He defined it as invigorating, much as having icy water splashed on him would be. He let the sensation drench him and fill him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, the world had changed. Blue was the river of energy that flowed to his feet. It coiled over him and around him, pooling in his hands. Off to the west, a golden glow defined the Octagon, as seen down a wooded hill and back up again to the crest of the valley. Half a mile away as he was, he could see the tops of ghostly towers, its pennants flying in a breeze that the material world did not feel.
A little tremor ran through the gold, humming as if it were a plucked string. It coincided with Rufus’ heartbeat, but pounded at a pace that no human heart could sustain for long. It occurred to the Prince that whoever was hagriding Rufus must be hoping to summon to the world a safe haven, so he could again walk beneath the sun. And my job is to see to it that he fails.
Vlad turned his head slightly, catching sight of Bethany Frost over his left shoulder. “Everyone is in place, yes, Lieutenant Frost?”
