Warrior (The Key to Magic) by H. Jonas Rhynedahll Page A

focus," Bhrucherra emphasized, "not of dissolution."
    "Very well," Traeleon acceded, overcoming his reluctance.  "Director Whorlyr, give the necessary orders and reassign the recovered brethren as you see fit.  However, once the mainland is secured, Plydyre will be retaken, even if it is necessary to depopulate the island to do so."
    "As you say, Preeminence."
    Traeleon stood up, automatically checking the bolt thrower in his pocket and noting that Bhrucherra mirrored his caution.  While within the fortress, Traeleon dispensed with personal guards, but no matter where they were he and the First Inquisitor were never without the relics.  As a matter of routine, Traeleon never relaxed his guard.  Though Bhrucherra had swiftly and efficiently purged all who had had even the slightest hint of association with the conspiracy that had slaughtered the Firsts of the Full Conclave, Traeleon trusted none of the brethren that he had placed in positions of authority within the new governing structure of the Brotherhood.
    "I find no fault with your strategy for the campaign," he told Whorlyr.  "You may begin to take the necessary steps to implement it.  My expectation is that you will adapt your tactics as battlefield conditions necessitate.  We will continue with the inspection now."
    Having taken care to limit damage to it during the seizure of Mhevyr, the Brotherhood had made the Plythtwaelndt Fortress just north of the defeated city fully its own.  As the Archdeacon and the two other senior brethren left the command room and made their way to the stairs to the underground levels, they passed only members of the diligently working fraternity in the long corridors and reinforced chambers.  In order to eliminate any possibility of espionage, none of the subjugated peoples were allowed entrance to the extensive stronghold, with servants and other menials explicitly banned by Holy Writ.   
    Sited on a prominent hilltop and originally an outpost of the long faded Empire of the North, the fortress had been expanded and strengthened for centuries so that now its multitude of bastions and curtain walls enclosed an area almost two thousand armlengths square.  Beneath it, a warren of tunnels of an almost equal area had been excavated in the bedrock, and it was here that the new manufactories had been established.
    Abbot Pzieilng and his assistants awaited the Archdeacon at the foot of the narrow main stairway.  The scholar fell in beside Traeleon while the other brethren queued behind the trailing Bhrucherra and Whorlyr.
    "Any production problems today, Brother Pzieilng?" Traeleon asked as he walked down the aisle of the first section, observing the familiar process with a nevertheless close attention to detail.
    Continuous tables that had been built in place ran from one end of the arched chamber to the other.  On these the copies of the Algaraemyr Device were being created beneath hooded, pinpoint lamps that were the only illumination.  The semi-darkness aided the workers to maintain concentration.
    The teams of high Ability brethren that sat behind the tables, scrounged from every monastery and community of the Brotherhood, were totally focused on the segment of the spell that they must append and did not look up or stir as the Archdeacon's group moved along.  The heated iron blanks were passed rapidly from station to station by standing proctors utilizing insulated tongs.  Timing was critical and large spring-wound clocks were mounted at intervals on the wall behind the workers to maintain the speed of the line.  Any delay in the precise schedule would allow the blanks to cool overmuch and thereby cause the reassembled modulation to fail.  While usually this was of little consequence save for the lost effort, once one of the almost complete devices had erupted into a blast of flame, killing three and seriously wounding a dozen.
    "None, Preeminence.  We are on schedule to complete the final batch in two