Rawduck VII

 The antechamber to the audience chamber had a queue of people running directly through the middle of it, from one gilded door to another, and along each side of the queue were four guards.  They stood roughly equidistant, their eyes roaming freely over the people queuing, with their weapons clearly on display and their hands at rest at their sides, but still close enough to their weapons that they had only to react to draw them.  The floor of the antechamber was tiled with a repeating black and white pattern that was smudged here and there with dirt, and towards one end there was a reddish smear that might have clay or might, perhaps, have been something else.

Yannish, the King’s advisor, was wearing an uncomfortable uniform of heavy cotton that made him sweat anytime there wasn’t a cooling breeze around him.  It wrapped around him in blue and gold with lines of green here and there separating bands of the other colours. It looked smart but it made him feel like he was being roasted alive.  He leaned in to the three mages who were standing in the queue; they had reached the middle of the antechamber and Yannish had decided that it was time to brief them.

“The King is King Rawduck the seventh,” he said, watching their faces.  Inevitably he saw the youngest mage, a boy barely out of his teens with a cocky grin, a single sparkling green eye and a eye-patch, and a shock of blonde hair, start to open his mouth.  “The seventh,” said Yannish with careful emphasis.

“I heard you,” said the boy, who had given his name as ‘Vorrai’.  Before he could continue the only woman of the trio elbowed him in the stomach.  He oof-ed a little.

“Then you heard him say ‘the seventh’,” she said.  “So I imagine that the King, and all the forebears of that name, have all heard everything you might be thinking of saying right now.”  She was called Meridion, recalled Yannish.  She was svelte and delicate-featured but denied any and all elven heritage.  She was rumoured to have had several children but, looking at her, Yannish found it hard to believe.  She didn’t look old enough to have borne two children, let alone the purported dozen.

“Quite,” said Yannish, rather glad he hadn’t had to explain himself.  Vorrai rubbed his stomach, but it appeared to be pro forma rather than from any injury.  “The Kings Linguists have determined that there is a small island off the coast of the Yugan Continent where the language has a word Rohrpug, which means ‘fighter of seven animals’.  They believe that the King’s name probably stems from there.”

Vorrai’s face, which Yannish thought was shallowly pretty but might become handsome in twenty years’s time, screwed up in thought.  “The Yugan Continent was only discovered forty years ago,” he said.

“Vorrai!”  Meridion looked exasperated and brushed long dark hair away from her face.  It fell back, occluding an eye.  “If the King has decided that that is the origin of his name, who are we to question that?”

Vorrai frowned, but before he could answer the third of the trio lifted a hand.  He was, like Yannish, wrapped in heavy cotton clothes but, unlike Yannish, appeared to find them a suitable temperature for the inside of the palace.  He had refused to give a name and Yannish, normally adept in politicking these things out of people, had failed repeatedly to convince him otherwise.  “There are many truths,” he said.  “This is one of those truths that will, with time and repetition, become self-evident.  Leave it, boy.”

Yannish nodded, while wondering about the deep resonance that the nameless mage had achieved.  The floor had almost vibrated under his feet.  And with that thought, the queue shuffled forward and the three mages were at the door to the audience chamber and were ushered inside by the attendants there.

“Mages?” King Rawduck VII looked over them as though he were reviewing soldiers.  They all had the uncomfortable feeling that they had failed to polish their boots sufficiently for a moment.

“Hengist’s charm of disapproval,” said Vorrai after a moment.  He made a cutting motion with his hand and the sensation disappeared.  Around the room all the guards drew their weapons and pointed them at the mages.

“Don’t do that without obtaining permission first,” said the King.  He gestured something surprisingly complex and the guards returned to their at-ease stance.  “You have lived this time; next time you may not be so fortunate.”

Meridion rolled her eyes.  “We get it,” she said, “you’re the King.  We should show respect.”

Vorrai rolled his eyes now, but he nodded and looked at the floor.  “I could kneel,” he said.  “But it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned recently.”

“Shut up,” said the King.  “There are balances of power, yes, and right now the balance is tipped in my favour.  Not by a great deal, I grant you, but I’m not here to threaten you or play word games.  I want to hire you.  So I only need as much advantage as it takes to get you to listen to my proposition.”

“Fair,” said the third of the trio, his voice rumbling like an earth elemental’s.  “Speak, then, your Majesty.”

“Four days travel from here is the river Clem,” said Rawduck VII.  He gestured casually towards the north-east.  “Across the river are some disputed lands.  I wish to resolve the dispute, and to do that I need a bridge.  As quickly as possible, in fact.  Or quicker, even.”

“Quicker than possible?” Vorrai smiled.  “I like a challenge!”

“There are few bridge-building spells,” said Meridion, who seemed to be ignoring Vorrai now.  “It’s just not something you often need magic for.  Expensive, hard to do, and you need a good mage.”

The King let his gaze drift from Vorrai to Meridion and back, taking in all three of them.

“Yes, of course,” she said.  “I didn’t think it was a coincidence that the three of us ended up together in the queue.  Well, I suppose there’s always Athelred’s Graceful Span.  It will take 24 hours though.”

“The spell needs 24 hours to cast?”  Rawduck VII looked appalled.  “I thought magic was quick!”

“It takes about 7 minutes to cast,” said Vorrai.  “And nearly 24 hours to anneal to the point where it can support the weight of a small army crossing it.  And it’s unnecessarily froufrou.  We can just cast Gormund’s Extensible Log fifteen or sixteen times and get a—“

“Pontoon that will be swept away in the first storm,” said the third of the trio.  “Hardly a strategic choice.”

“Athelred’s Span will allow shipping below it,” said Meridion.  “I did pick it for a reason, you know.”

“No shipping on the Clem,” said the third of the trio.  “At least, not that way.  Depth of the river is very variable.”

“Well,” said Vorrai, who looked annoyed now, “how about Mimi’s Catapult?  Doesn’t interfere with river traffic whether or not there is any, can be left there indefinitely, and gets the army across in less than an hour.”

“Possible,” said Meridion, tapping a tooth with a fingernail.  “We could set three up and do it even faster.”

Vorrai grinned but the King interrupted them.  “A bridge,” he said.  “Not a magical transport system.  No teleporting either.”

“Summon Elemental,” said the third of the trio resonantly.  “Have an earth elemental raise the river bed at the desired point, and then tunnel through the rise.  Will take less than an hour, and—“

“Minor flooding of the surrounding land while the bridge is being formed,” said Vorrai.

“Unacceptable,” said Rawduck VII immediately.

“Ice Elemental,” said the third of the trio implacably.  “Freeze the surface of the river and have the army skate across.”

“Two elementals,” said Vorrai.  “One on each side.  Have them triggered by something so that they only freeze the surface when the bridge is needed.”

“I like it,” said Meridion slowly.  “Bridge on demand, and we can key it to the King’s troops.  Maybe to the sergeants or something, so that he has control of who can cross.”

“I like the sound of this,” said the King.  “This is fast?”

“Mostly,” said Vorrai.  “We will need a few human sacrifices though.”