High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (14 page)

“Perhaps you will all be persuaded, by observing our character.”

“That may not be to your favor, Magelord.”

I beat a hasty retreat.  I knew when I was losing.

My meeting with Lord Aeratas was more antagonistic.  I approached him during the reception and asked him how he was enjoying my gift.  He looked down at the pendant shining on his breast and gave a snort.

“My loyalties cannot be purchased with pretty baubles, Master Minalan,” he warned.

“It was not your loyalty I sought to buy.  It was your attention.”

He gave me a steely stare.  “Pray you never have it in full, humani.”

“A little of it is all I desire,” I said, as smoothly as a Remeran tapestry merchant.  “Surely you share our concerns over the Umbra.  Shadow on our mutual frontier does neither of us good.”

“It challenges you,” he pointed out.  “It challenges your abilities.”

“It would challenge yours as well, my lord.  Was not the Aronin of Angriel a kinsman of yours?”

“Aye, and his daughter Ameras, my niece, remains missing,” he agreed, warily.  “As do many of our young people.  But I do not war out of vendetta, like the feral gurvani.  My borders are secure, as they have been for three thousand years.  Long before your folk . . . were invited,” he said.  It sounded like an indictment from his lips.  “I felt myself secure from you, until you were at my doorstep.  If I have to content myself with two such sorry neighbors, what is the loss?”

Lord Aeratas was a tough sell.  But not completely unreasonable. I just couldn’t persuade him.

“I admire you, personally, Master Minalan,” he finally conceded.  “It was well done, relieving our outpost as you did.  And the mystery of the snow that never melted is enough to elevate you to some celebrity among our folk.”

“I hope to explore that more, with your help.”

“The lives of men are short,” he reminded me.  “What brave deeds you may do today will come to naught, in the future, due to your mortality.  Only among the Valley Folk and perhaps the Kasari is there much reliability among the humani anymore.  And even they are no more stable than a clan of Karshak.”

“So what would you have us do?” I asked.

“Fight your war, Master Minalan, and do make it entertaining.  But do not involve my kindred more than you already have.  It is known that you seek allies amongst the youngest of our folk.  The most rash among us,” he added.  “I am a pragmatic Alkan, Master Minalan.  I know the rebelliousness of youth, and I know the allure of your ephemeral culture among some. Pragmatism says I must tolerate this.  It does not demand I encourage it.”  With that he left without a further look.

Pure, cold, hard contempt, right down to my human soul.  I had been considered and dismissed.  It smarted, but then I hadn’t really expected better.  I sighed and made my way over to our host, Master Haruthel. 

“An admirable effort, Master Minalan,” he said, consolingly.  “If it eases your mind, there are those who have tried to persuade each of them in lesser matters since the fall of the Magocracy.  Without as much success.”

“Actually, that does make me feel better.  Thanks.”

“The bribes were a nice touch,” he added, laying a finger delicately over his own stone.  “They are as you said: they can be used as portable waypoints, regardless of local magical density.  That is a power that not even our ancestors possessed.  As much as Lord Aeratas dislikes your people, and Lord Letharan mistrusts them, they are beholden to you for that wonder.”

“I hope so,” I grumbled.  “So how does this council of yours work?  A simple vote, or is it a matter of precedence?”

“Things do not work like that here.  No one commands, and the council does not govern.”

“But . . . I thought it ruled the Alka Alon?”

“Things do not work like that among my people.  This council is deliberative in nature, not executive.  We pool our wisdom to exchange information and find consensus.  The council has little actual authority.  That lies with the individual lords.”

“So why have a council at all?”

“Not everything demands action, my young friend,” the Alkan smiled.  “Some things require action, but only after sufficient contemplation.  In this council the wise can contemplate, exchange views, even argue.  But we do not command each other.   The proper action usually suggests itself, soon enough, once the correct information has been assembled.  But oftentimes the problems clear up of their own accord.”

“Shereul is not going to go away on his own,” I pointed out.  “He doesn’t even breathe, let alone age.  And if you are counting on the humani to deal with him . . . well, we might beat his minions in the field,” I admitted.  “But once the goblins were cleared away, we still could not match his arcane strength.”

“It is a long problem,” the Master of the Hall said, nodding his head sagely.  “I sympathize, Master Minalan.  And yes, Shereul may involve our folk in this matter, should he continue his attacks.  But you will not see any of my people move against him hastily.  That is not our way.  I am among your folk’s most devout supporters, but even I cannot counsel taking the field against the Abomination.  It is too soon, and we know too little.  There are other forces to contend with.  Forces you know nothing about.  As grave a threat as Shereul is, we must study it before we can act.  That is the essence of wisdom.  And that is our way,” he repeated.

“I hope we can afford your way,” I sighed.  “Master Haruthel, I cannot express how glad I am that I was able to guest in your fair valley, and I hope someday to return the hospitality.  But I cannot help but think that this was a fool’s errand.”

“On the contrary, my young friend,” the scruffy Alkan smiled, “you couldn’t be more wrong.  This is the first delegation from the humani lands in this Hall in several of your lifetimes.  Only the Valley Folk and the Kasari have been here in all that time.  Your presence has been cherished,” he assured me, “a reminder of alliances long past and visions of the future nearly forgotten.  This journey has gained you allies.  Some perhaps more enthusiastic than useful, but allies nonetheless.”

“You mentioned the Kasari –  their lands are nearby, I suppose.  Why did you invite them here?” 

“The Kasari have long been aids of ours,” Master Haruthel informed me.  “They admire our people, and we find them of use from time to time.  But the tidings they bring to council are their own.  The feral gurvani tribes of the Kulines have been receiving emissaries from the Dead God, urging them to swear to him and revolt against your people . . . and mine.”

“That’s . . . not good news,” I said, feeling faint.  More gurvani coming down from the north and the east would complicate things dramatically.  I only knew a little about the strange Kasari people of the Wilderlands, but I knew that they were wicked fighters.  Especially when defending their sacred groves.  If they saw a threat, it was wise to pay heed.

“The gurvani in the east seem more reluctant to take up arms, and many are frightened of the undead lord they would swear to . . . but many others are eager to fight under his banner against human encroachment.  The Kasari have been watching their activity.  We shall hear their report in full this evening, but we already know the essence.  Shereul does, indeed, seek to broaden his war.”

“Might I propose that the council consider interviewing Gurkarl?” I asked.  “The gurvani prisoner I took at Boval was, indeed, the first to look upon their sacred cave.  He mentioned some sort of prophecy among his folk.  That might have some value in their culture.”

“That is well-reasoned,” agreed Haruthel, rubbing his chin.  “It would be wise to at least speak with him.  He is still your prisoner?”

“Well, he is under a trusted guard, but mostly for his own safety.  I am having proper quarters prepared for him at Sevendor before I retrieve him.”

“Let us know when he is prepared to speak to us,” Haruthel nodded with quiet eagerness.  “I know my colleagues left you with an impression that they are unconcerned with the gurvani,” he continued, quietly, “but in fact they do fear our cousins.  Few now live who recall the days of their uprisings, but they were impressively destructive.  And at the time, the gurvani had yet to develop magic of their own.  Now . . .” he said, letting out a sigh, “now we fear that we will be the victims of our own folly, as is too often the case.  Worse . . . that we might deserve it for what we have done in the past.”

There was one other encounter I had that evening I wasn’t prepared for.  A young Alkan male caught me out on the terrace smoking and gazing at the stars, enjoying the delicious sensations the liquor was giving me.  Perhaps it was the altitude or the thinness of the air, but the stars seemed vividly close at hand.

I was joined shortly by a smaller Alkan (one of the Versaroti – I was starting to be able to tell them apart a little.  Don’t ask me how), who politely asked if he was disturbing me.  I welcomed him to share the evening.  It was a big terrace.

“I am called Cardareth,” he said, in flawless Narasi.  “I have heard much of the great Spellmonger, Minalan.”

“A lot of people are talking about me,” I nodded.  “I really don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“You brought the great gems to the council,” he observed.  “Such magnificence . . . they throb with the lifeforce,” he said, expressively.  “Have you more such trinkets?” he asked, almost casually.  But even an Alkan could not disguise his eagerness for the prize.

“I’m still taking inventory,” I admitted.  “But there might be more.”

“I have always had a fascination with such things, as do many of my kindred.  Considering the danger and potency of the gems, should not a wiser and more knowledgeable mind undertake their study?”

It was utterly patronizing.  I felt like he was trying to talk a child out of a gold nugget he’d found. 

“I’m a pretty fair thaumaturge myself,” I revealed.  “And I have the Karshak stonesingers to advise me.”

“Karshak?” he asked in disbelief.  “You put such treasures before the eyes of—”

“I’d advise caution, when speaking so of the Karshak,” I interrupted, which seemed to irritate him.  “I’ve only known them a short time, but they have a temper.”

“Artisans,” he dismissed.  “These wonders deserve proper study, by the appropriate scholars,” he insisted. 

“I’ve attended a magical academy,” I assured him.  “I’ve got all my parchment in order.”

“A humani magic academy,” he sneered.  “Hardly the proper experience needed to fathom the depths of such wonders. “

“And yet, that’s exactly what I plan,” I said, coolly.  “When I need the insights of the Alka Alon, I’m sure that the council will provide the necessary experts.”

“The council!” he scoffed.  “Nearly as bad as a humani magical academy.  Do you have any idea what this snowstone of yours could mean, Spellmonger?”

“I do,” I nodded.  “Or, at least I know its value.  The snowstone is just the beginning.  The gems in my collection,” I said, shaking my head, purposefully baiting him, “There is no way to envision of what they might be capable.”

I was getting to him, I could tell.  Don’t ask me why I was teasing him – I’m not usually that cruel to someone I don’t know – but this one seemed to inspire me.  But the Alka are subtle creatures, and patient.  He calmed down soon enough.

“At least tell me what you know of its origins,” he insisted.  “That much, at least, might assist in my research!”

“It involved the precise moment of the birth of my son,” I told him.  “There was a problem.  Magical, not biological.  I used a Morath rune and some creative improvisation to intervene.  The next moment, every atom of silica for two miles in every direction was transformed into snowstone.”

“You used the Morath rune?” he asked.  I could see him mentally “translating” the rune into its more-complex Alka form.  “And it involved your child’s birth?  Interesting . . .”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take better notes,” I said, re-filling my pipe.  “I was busy at the time.”

“Notes?  Ah, those scraps you scribble on.  No matter.  The experience is still engraved in your mind.  It can be withdrawn easily enough.”

That
got my attention.  “I think that might be a lot more trouble than you foresee.”

“It is a simple enough procedure.  My brother Brintheldin is adept at such songs.  He could have the memory out of you—”

“Not without my permission,” I said, flatly.  “And I’m feeling very insecure about my memories, at the moment.  Mayhap the day will come when such a thing is attempted, but I have truly larger priorities right now.”

“There is no larger priority!”
he insisted, getting angry.  “Had you the wit to realize it, you would agree.  Do you not see?  This stone of yours has the potential to save all of Callidore!  Your petty feud with the gurvani means
nothing
, compared to this!”

“That is your perspective,” I said, diplomatically.  “I do not share it.”

“We will address this again,” he said, tight-lipped.  “Human birth, you say.”

“There were other factors at play,” I told him, grudgingly.  “The chamber was the intersection of natural nodes of power, for instance.  For all I know, the time of day was a factor.  I’m far more concerned with the result than the mechanism, however.”

“Yes, the snowstone,” he nodded, his eyes glazed.  “And those gems.”