Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (30 page)

The master of the Mint said, “That doesn’t sound all that bad; the garrison here numbers over a thousand. They should be able to hold out easily against such a small group.”

The smith shook his head grimly. “When comparing armies, we only count
swords
. The guild uses a ratio of about four to one for support personnel and archers to skilled swordsmen. That ship could hold over 800 trained killers each load. For some reason, the Guild and House Kragen are working together.” He paced, doing the math. “Your garrison
had
about 100 Honors—they use a lot more fodder. By now, 50 have been captured, bringing the combined enemy force to about 400 Honors.”

When Strellikan didn’t react, the smith shouted, “This is big! In this whole city, there are only about 50 royal Zanzibosian swords left to resist. That’s an eight-to-one advantage. After a brief siege on their armory, they’ll be crushed. We need to find out what this alliance is after immediately.”

Strellikan laid a hand on his arm to soothe him. “Relax; enjoy the party. Nothing is going to happen tonight. The fight has been going on for almost a week. I’m sure the king will just bring in reinforcements from elsewhere and crush this uprising.”

The smith closed his eyes, and recited in depressed tones, “He’s killing all messenger birds. He stopped either because a message got out or nobody could arrive in time to stop him. There are five major cities in Zanzibos, each with at least thirty swords, but some f them are pretty remote. Plus, a few of the swords were sent north investigate that magic flash in the sky.”

The master of the Mint rubbed his chin pensively when this tidbit slipped out, but said nothing to interrupt. “All this means that if the coward king sent a hundred swords from the capital, by the time they arrived, the siege would be over, and the invaders would have a new total of 450 swords. With these city walls and even a day to prepare, there’s no way the king can retake this city. It’s fallen already; the king just doesn’t know it yet.”

The master of the Mint stared for a moment, mouth dry. “Your knowledge of our military forces is impressive, but you know little of the spirit of nobility. House Kragen has done nothing to harm the population at large. Perhaps their lady’s intentions are less malicious than you imagine.”

“All the more reason to divine her true goal, milord. When you hear about a tidal wave, you get out of its path or you get swept away,” countered the smith.

“Is there any chance you are mistaken about the inevitability of the outcome?” Strellikan asked, a dozen new plans competing in his mind.

His new bodyguard shook his head. “Only Bablios might tip the scales, if they acted decisively.”

“Two score Babliosians have lain siege to Tamarind.”

“We left more soldiers than that behind. If the guildmaster did his job, and I’d bet anything he has, our women and children could hold off that many from the fortress of Tamarind for the next year. This weak response is uncharacteristic of the Prefect. Is he distracted?”

Strellikan grinned wickedly. “Some friends of mine wondered where I located such a well-constructed companion on such short notice. So I told them the truth. You just crawled into my bed one night and we’ve been partners ever since.”

The smith floundered, fish-faced for a time. “But that’s not… we’re not… I didn’t…” He calmed himself for a moment and asked, “Are you?”

The aristocrat’s smile got even broader as he made his way back to the party.

Over the next few hours, they pieced together some of the Kragen goals. The first building captured was the royal office of deeds and records. Within five days, Humi was the acknowledged owner of vast tracts of land in the city. The blood feud had been resolved by an agreement of service reached between the parties. The nephew of the king, also able to grant minor titles, was the next target. While a small contingent held the royal troops at bay, the majority of the unified force had, as predicted, all but taken control of the city’s day-to-day activities. The union of boatmen helped House Kragen by refusing to ship anything down-river to the capital. The most vocal proponent of the blockade was a man from Barnham who claimed that a lone, tattooed knight of Kragen had once saved his grandmother, and vowed that Kragen had always ruled fairly.

Classes were suspended at university while recruiters from the sept interviewed potential wizard assistants, army engineers, and clerks. Faculty and bureaucrats opposing the faction found themselves in prison. Once firmly entrenched, the invaders began focusing on the royalist hold-outs in the armory with a vengeance.

Later, while the smith stewed and drew charcoal map sketches with arrows on a piece of parchment in the parlor, Strellikan conversed with his historian friend who’d arrived at a more fashionable hour. “So what did you think of our little cultural find?”

“A beautiful forgery,” said the amateur historian, sampling the curry dip with approval.

The silence was palpable. “But it was a real Sword of Miracles from the emperor’s own bodyguard,” insisted the smith.

Lord Strellikan’s friend didn’t seem inclined to debate the issue further, but patted the smith on the head like a child as he crossed the room. “It was a sword of the first circle, and priceless, but it was not the Fiery Sword that Cuts All Things. It probably even fooled the bodyguard, but not me. First of all, the true sword wouldn’t have shattered as you described, Strellikan. According to the ancient texts, the harder you swing the Defender’s sword, the hotter it gets until it glows like molten metal.”

“Could your reference text be wrong?” asked Strellikan.

The historian smiled patronizingly as he handed the silk-wrapped hilt back to the master of the Mint together with a small, round piece of lead. Strellikan examined both and handed them to the anonymous smith for safekeeping. “Perhaps, but this is incontrovertible. Note that the Honor I peeled off is stamped with a false number one. The Honor beneath it is a much higher number, thus forged much later. I’ve been able to date the creation of the forged seal to some time in the last fifty years, definitely before the Scattering took place. However, I have no records on this technique for applying sesterina or any idea of who the smith may have been. He was a true artist.”

Lord Strellikan dismissed his friend with profuse thanks and insisted he try the stuffed quail at the buffet. When they were alone again, the smith said, “Shit. Now what do we do?”

Strellikan seemed puzzled. “We restore this piece as planned, starting tonight. What else? The only question left is: who do we sell it to and for what advantage?”

“But it’s worthless,” complained the smith.

“Hardly. When we’re done, this sword will
be
the Defender of the Realm,” the aristocrat insisted.

“But he’ll tell everyone it’s a fake,” said the smith.

Lord Strellikan stroked the smith’s worried face. “You still don’t know how we operate. He thinks I am selling antiquities on the black market the same as he does. If he utters one word, I tell the authorities about a certain desert dig site and some ancient swords thought long gone. When he dies, his heir is my sister’s child, who’s my ward. You see, if he ever sees the whole picture, which is unlikely, and works up the courage to tell, he forfeits his life and all worldly possessions to me. This dealer would never risk his weapon collection falling into anyone’s hands, especially not mine. I’d melt them down in front of him before seeing him executed. None of this will ever point back to you. Regardless of his actions, the new owner of the Defender would keep the secret of the sword and uphold any story we tell. The legend of the real sword brings power, and no one would sacrifice that.”

The smith was about to object further when Commander Navara of House Kragen strode into the room. He was too shocked to react when Lord Strellikan kissed him on the cheek, patted him on the bottom, and told him to run along. Navara ignored the catamite bodyguard and concentrated on the master of the Mint. The visit was brief. From the doorway, the smith overheard an ultimatum. Lord Strellikan had three days to turn over the keys to the Mint and all its records. Henceforth, all the gold in Innisport belonged to House Kragen as reparations. If he didn’t hand over the keys by the day after this coming holy day, the lord would be jailed and his possessions confiscated.

As the well-dressed smith fled, he bumped into a Kragen clerk leaving the buffet. It took the two a moment to recognize each other after the automatic apologies. “You,” they said simultaneously. Navara was coming toward them.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t turn you in,” rasped Bunji.

He could kill the unarmed adjutant, but the troops outside might catch him, and Navara surely would. “I’ll give you two. The sword will be whole in three days, and I know where you can find the sheriff. Either is worth more than my life to you.”

The bearer of the new Defender of the Realm snuck out the back of the mansion to the safety of the forge. If he only had three days and a night to restore this blade, he had to get busy.

For three grueling days and nights, Lord Strellikan and the former Executioner smit
h struggled to restore the sword of the Defender. Neither slept much and they frequently argued. Repairing a sword of this importance took almost as much effort as creating it in the first place. The first hurdle was to reform the sword. Between the shattering and melting, some of the original metal was lost, and they didn’t dare substitute new metal for fear of ruining the strength. They compromised by making the blade slightly shorter.

The next hurdle was duplicating the complex patterns traced from both sides of the shards. Their first attempt imbedded the pattern into the steel during forging, but the blade cracked on clear stress lines between the symbols when immersed in water. On the second attempt, they hammered out the sword as normal, encased it in a thin layer of glass, and drew the symbols in the still-liquid glass deep enough to touch the metal. When an acid solution was poured over the sword, the exposed metal was scarred enough that the tracery coue plainly seen or felt.

Unfortunately, they’d given the new blade a more modern base and the old hilt no longer fit properly. While Strellikan undertook the painstaking, etching process, the former executioner set about to design a better handle. Inside the bell-shaped finger guard, he mounted a detachable set of iron knuckles so that the wielder could use the handle like a cestus to pummel opponents. Normally craftsmen avoided extra weight because the bearer’s arm might tire too quickly. However, he’d been in enough brawls to want the sword to be useful in close-quarter fights. Besides, his muscles were sufficient for the task. Then the smith reinforced the hilt so that it was strong enough to smash through leather shields, nose pieces, and even wizard glass. Without even realizing it, he adjusted the balance of the hilt so that it swung like a war hammer instead of gliding like a blade. When Strellikan saw the changes, he was furious. They argued and exchanged unflattering adjectives until both of them were shouting.

The smith was adamant about the soundness of his decisions. “The Book of Arms says that when you find a flaw in one generation of weapon, the next generation should address it or that weakness will render you defenseless.”

A cluster of veins stood in the center of the aristocrat’s forehead. “Did this precious Book of Arms tell you about fingers, too? Anything about the number and size on an Imperial guard’s hand? This weapon has been fitted for a five-fingered, ham-fisted monkey!”

The smith stood nose-to-nose with the Lord of the Mint, ready to grab the taller and frailer man and snap him over one knee. The smells of powder and perfume that the aristocrat used to cover up his sweat were almost overwhelming. Only the presence of an anvil in the room and his disciplined professionalism prevented any rash act. “I’ll have you know I took the measurements from my own hand! Are you calling me a monkey?” Strellikan remained silent, seething, while the admission hung in the air. The smith suddenly looked very sheepish. “I’ve refactored the Defender to fit myself. How could I have been so short-sighted? Strellikan, I’m sorry. We can pop out the knuckles and replaced them with something else.”

The Lord of the Mint sighed and put a hand on his shoulder in forgiveness. The smith was so relieved at the gesture that he read nothing more into it. “No, there’s not enough time for that. We still have to coat it with a layer of sesterina tonight. I apologize. It is only right that the hilt should fit you because you are the official bearer. I just have no idea how we’re going to get the coating thin enough that the blade stays sharp, but thick enough that it doesn’t peel off when you stab through someone’s armor. Although I showed you the basics of our process, you won’t get it perfect the first time. I might be able to find the happy medium myself with a watch or two of experimentation, but there are a hundred other tasks demanding my attention before dawn.”