“A few,” I agreed. “There is a king over the three western duchies, now. The Censorate is expelled and diminished in power. And I am raised to the Count Palatine of the Magelaw, in the eastern Alshari Wilderlands. Magelords and High Magi walk the halls of power. And a dark force has risen in the west. Our war is not over,” I reported, with a sigh. “Indeed, it has become far more complicated in your absence.”
“If you are seeking warmagi, I have retired,” Rolof said, flatly.
“I’m not looking for swords, though I’d welcome them,” I admitted. “I seek knowledge you might have.”
He looked at my companions with suspicion. “And you bring these fellows to convince me?”
“More to protect me from the strangeness of this land while I look for what I need,” I said, indicating the six-legged predator.
“So, what great need compelled you to cross hundreds of leagues, brave the wastes, and give up your rajira to speak to an obscure wizard in a land without magic?” he asked, a mixture of suspicion and amusement playing about his lips.
“A number of good reasons. I’d very much like to discuss them with you, if you have the time.”
“I have all the time in the world, as little as that is,” he sighed. “But I am cautious of my home. I know you – or did,” he said, thoughtfully. “I will speak to you there, alone. The rest of you may rest here,” he directed. “You should be safe of further danger. The cyclops has driven away most other predators during his short stay. And it appears that you can defend yourselves,” he said, examining Lilastien’s plasma rifle.
“We’ll be fine, here,” Fondaras assured me. “We shall make camp. That thing wouldn’t be edible, would it?”
“No, more’s the pity,” Rolof sighed. “They don’t even make a good rug.”
“I can hunt,” Travid shrugged.
“There are some squash vines in the meadow to the east,” Rolof directed, as he turned and walked back up the slope. “Help yourself. I hate squash. This way, Minalan. I’ll make some tea. But leave the horse. The trail is narrow.”
“Master, he doesn’t quite seem . . . right,” Tyndal whispered to me, as I prepared to follow him.
“He’s showing classic signs of paranoia,” agreed Lilastien. “He’s been secluded for a few years,” she argued.
“He’s an old comrade,” I soothed, handing Tyndal my plasma rifle. “We’re just going to have a chat over some tea. He’s probably just lonely,” I reasoned.
“He’s not acting lonely, he’s acting paranoid,” Lilastien said, shaking her head. “Be wary. You don’t know what he’s been through. You heard the rumors from the Kilnusk,” she reminded me.
“I can take care of myself,” I said, shaking my head. “What could go amiss? But keep your radios on,” I urged them. “In case something does. I don’t think he knows what they can do. If he does go mad and tries to slit my throat and I call for help, I’ll expect a timely rescue,” I said, over my shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rolof the Obscure
Rolof was not the same man I briefly knew, but neither was I. He had sought obscurity while I sought power. That is either a token of his madness or proof of his wisdom. Only time will tell which is true, or both.
from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,
Recorded by Minalan the Spellmonger
I hurried to catch Rolof, but the trail did narrow significantly as it rose, so I had to follow behind him. The brush grew thicker on this portion of the slope, almost a thicket lining both sides of the trail. It was a dense combination of natavia and importasta, much of which I’d never seen before. They were bursting into bloom in the summer’s heat, and some of them were quite beautiful.
But it wasn’t the flowers that I was wary of, after having that cyclops spring out on us; I was expecting snarling teeth or slithering tentacles to part the wildflowers at any moment. Without my magical protections, I was feeling jumpy. But Rolof strode through it like he was inspecting his garden. If he was paranoid, he was the most relaxed paranoid I’d ever met.
“I can only guess what really dragged you out here,” he said, conversationally, as he hiked up the trail. “That is trouble. Political, Military, or Magical? Legal? Personal?”
“A bit of all of them, actually,” I admitted. “Would you believe that I’m trying to save the world?”
He halted and turned to look at me. “Why bother?” he asked. He seemed serious.
“I’ve gotten quite comfortable here,” I replied, unsure of his mood. “I’m just starting to understand the place.”
“You just think you are,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just saying that you should consider the pros and cons, first.”
“You question saving the world?” I asked, shocked.
“I’m questioning whether or not it’s worth the effort,” he sighed.
“I’m not speaking of the war,” I informed him, carefully. “Did you know that in three thousand years all magic on Callidore fails? The Vundel will die, horrific monsters will be released from the depths, and eventually all life will die.”
“I know,” he sighed. “And we will be long dead.”
“You know?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, Minalan, I know about the end of the world,” he said, sadly. “I’ve learned far more than you might suspect, since I’ve been here. I know that the world will end. I also know that there is no way to avoid it. And I know that none of us will be around to witness it. So why spend what few years we are allotted in miserably pretending that we can?”
“I like a challenge,” I said, shrugging. “I’ve had some important successes, thus far. I’m feeling lucky.”
“I’m shocked that you’re even still alive,” he chuckled.
“You aren’t alone,” I murmured, as we approached what I assumed was his home.
It was a simple croft built into a fold of the ridge. A small roof built of boughs and well-woven branches was supported by two great logs. Under it was a crudely carpentered door, attached to the frame with leather hinges. There were windows high in the roof, to allow light in, but behind them was naked rock. There was a score or more gourds bearing various herbs scattered around the opening, just off the path.
“My humble hermitage,” he announced, with affected drama.
“It’s charming,” I suggested, diplomatically.
“It’s a literal hole in the rock,” he said, shaking his head. “Merely an old lava tube I built a roof over. This place is riddled with them. The roof keeps it from getting draughty and keeps the creatures out. The cave extends back a couple of hundred feet inside. It’s defensible. It’s comfortable. But charming?” he asked, skeptically.
“I’ve always admired the rustic look,” I offered, as he unlatched the door. “I spent the greater part of the last two years literally living under a rock.”
“I suppose we should catch up on news, first,” he decided. “It will make our conversation easier. So, what happened after that horrific siege we escaped?” Rolof asked, as he opened the door to his croft.
“Funny story, that,” I said, as he hung his bow and weapons harness on a peg near the door. “I went to Castal, convinced Duke Rard to pay for three thousand mercenaries, suspend the Bans on Magic, and then stopped the invasion at Timberwatch. He even came and fought alongside Duke Lenguin. There was a dragon. There was a fire elemental. But we won, so we all got knighted and rewarded. More or less.”
“Such things are often an axe with two blades,” he nodded, sympathetically.
“But then Duke Rard and his wife had Duke Lenguin and his wife assassinated, seized their heirs, and cobbled together a kingdom because I gave him a legal pretext. But in exchange he expelled the Censorate and voided the Bans.”
“Well, that’s a piece of good news,” he agreed, after a moment’s consideration. “I loathe the Censorate.”
“That depends upon your perspective. You see, he put me in charge of re-organizing the administration of magic in
the new kingdom. And then a couple of magical accidents happened, the Alka Alon got involved, the Vundel got involved, there were some dragons and some undead, we fought a lot more battles, I founded a couple of cities and advanced magic in some interesting ways and . . . well, I’ve kept the forces of darkness at bay, so far, but it’s been a very busy time.”
“So it seems,” he agreed, as he began lighting a fire. “Married?”
“Yes,” I answered, surprised. “Two children. No, four children. Long story. I actually brought my wife along. As I said, it’s been very busy.”
“Nice,” he nodded, as he quickly struck a flint and blew on the tinder. “I have a girlfriend,” he offered. “It’s . . . nice.”
As we spoke, I looked around the place. The southern facing windows allowed enough light to see the forward portion of the cavern. It was only twenty to twenty-five feet wide, but it extended back into the darkness quite a way.
Most of the front was given over to simple furnishings: a small table, some shelves, a few stools and simple chairs, and shelves filled with stores and supplies. There was a long peg-laden log along one wall where dozens of bags and coils of rope were hung. The fireplace was built into the side of the cave and culminated in a chimney that disappeared through the rock, not the roof of the croft.
It wasn’t quite neat and tidy, but it was certainly orderly.
“So, while I’ve been out saving the world and stirring up trouble, no one has seen you at all,” I informed him, as he blew some kindling into a small fire. “There’s been plenty of speculation, but very few rumors.”
“I’m surprised anyone missed me at all,” he said, as he took a battered tin from the shelf and began making tea. “But after Boval Castle, I figured the Censorate would be certain to bring their hammer down on us. Until that question was decided, I figured I would find some place remote and wait out the result.”
I looked around. “I would say you were successful.”
He followed my glance and shrugged. “Living in a palace or living in a cave, you’re just living. It doesn’t matter where, really. As long as it’s safe and comfortable.”
“I’m partial to castles, myself,” I nodded. “But then, I have an ego.”
He smiled. “That, I remember,” he chuckled. “Did you marry that sex magic devotee? The pretty imperial mage who hired us?”
“No, no, a local girl. A Bovali refugee. She makes cheese. You’ll like her,” I decided. Because Alya is just likable, particularly since she came here. “Pentandra married a Kasari captain of rangers. She’s the Alshari Court Wizard, now. Three girls – triplets,” I said.
That made his eyebrows shoot up as he poured the water. “Triplets? Impressive. And our comrades in arms?”
“The High Magi – that’s what we call those magi who have irionite – have flourished in the new order. Many of them are magelords of great repute. Azar is a Viscount, as is Tyndal, in the Magelaw – that’s my county – and Wenek and Astyral are both barons. Weylan runs the magical orders in Wenshar. Taren is into enchantment. Delman, Horka, and Hesia were sadly killed in battle. The rest enjoy work in their specialties, pursue their hobbies or enjoy country life.”
“That sounds interesting,” he admitted. “Pleasant, even. Far better than I would imagine, actually. But when I fled my estates and went into exile, I did so with purpose.”
“I’m shocked anyone even knew about this place,” I admitted, as he put his kettle over the fire. “How did you find out about it?”
“Funny story, that,” he began with a small smile. “My great-grandfather was in an expedition to the area,” he said, turning and pulling a book off his shelf – one of a score. Stick a wizard in the middle of desolation in a hole in the ground, and he will still have his library. “He was a deputy court wizard, at the time. The adventurous sort. He wrote a fairly complete account of the expedition that has been kicking around our family library for sixty, seventy years. I read it over and over before I went off to school. I was fascinated by the incredible tales – the description of the creatures, the smoking mountain, the jevolar, the wild tribesmen – it always haunted me.
“So, when I wanted someplace far away where I could hide out from the Censorate, I figured I could fulfill a childhood dream at the same time. I made my way north, through the aftermath of the invasion, managed to cross the wastes, though it nearly killed me after my magic failed. The Kasari rescued me. I spent a few months in Anferny, then wandered off to relive my ancestors’ journey. I’ve been here ever since.”
“While I’m certain the rent is cheap, one has to wonder why?” I asked, carefully. “When you have a chunk of irionite the archmagi would envy, why flee to someplace where you can’t use it?” I asked, as he returned the book to its place.
“At first, I figured I would return after a year or so,” he admitted, taking a seat at the table. “But then things got . . . thorny. It didn’t suit me to leave, and for a while I couldn’t.
“But I’ve put my time to good use, here, whether I can cast spells or not. I’ve been studying the plants and animals of this land and cataloging them and their habits. I’ve got four volumes of notes,” he said, waving at his bookshelf. “I’ll start a fifth, as soon as I collect the reeds to make parchment.”
“A noble endeavor,” I agreed. “The secrets those volumes must contain . . .”
“Bah, they are but trivial studies,” he sighed. “The important book I’m writing catalogs the real mysteries of Anghysbel. Such as I can. I’ve learned . . . gods, Minalan I’ve learned far more than any man has a right to. There are things in this place that have existed a million years. And were older before they came here. There are races found nowhere else on Callidore. There are remnants of extinct civilizations. The story of this place is part of the story of Callidore, despite its small size. And it is packed with secrets.”
“I’ve managed one already,” I boasted. “I opened the Cave of the Ancients, near the Hot Lake.”
“The geophysical station?” he asked, unsurprised. “Was it still intact?”
“You know of it?” I asked, completely surprised.
“Yes. And the military station above it,” he said, flatly. “And the Grotto of Guard the Alka Alon built, the pylons of the serpent people, the crypt of Szal, the wholesome springs of the Leshwood, and the perils of Darkwater Cavern. And a dozen other sites. It’s a small place,” he reminded me. “Eventually, you’ll see it all, if you get restless.”
“Fascinating,” I said, nodding. “Yes, the station was largely intact. My colleague, Lilastien, was involved in the original colonization of Perwyn. She knew how to use a lot of the equipment.”
“The Alka Alon,” he smiled, as if at a secret joke. “Always so helpful to us ignorant humani.”
“So, I’ve figured out,” I sighed. “One of the things I pursue in Anghysbel is some word of Ameras. The daughter of the Aronin of Amadia. It is rumored that she is this vale. I’ve been sent as an emissary of the Alka Alon Council. Sort of,” I equivocated.
He studied me carefully. “With that, I might be of some use,” he murmured, carefully. “To what purpose does the council seek the Aronin’s heir?”
“I . . . I would prefer to speak with her about such matters, alone, to fulfill my commission. Do not be offended, but I am constrained by certain oaths and sensibilities.”
“Of course,” he said, though suspicion did not depart his eyes. “I can arrange a meeting, I think.”
“You can?” I asked, surprised. I didn’t think it would be that easy.
“I believe so. If that is the point of your quest, then I can help satisfy it. Though I doubt you will enjoy the outcome,” he said, cryptically.
I let it go. The man lived in a hole in the ground on the edge of madness. He was entitled to a little obscurity.
“An introduction is all I need. Lilastien has been sent to speak with her. But I seek something else rumored to originate in Anghysbel. A smooth, glass-like substance reputed to be s
ensitive to the harmonics of quantum thaumaturgy. It’s supposed to be some sort of organic mineral.”
“I . . . I believe I know the substance you are looking for,” he said, after a long pause. “It might be difficult to get to, but I have a friend . . . how important is it?”
“Extremely, unfortunately. We’re looking for a way to detect and quantify divine magical energy,” I explained. “This stuff is the only thing we’ve ever heard of that could do that. We heard a rumor it came from here. You say you know of it?” I asked, surprised.
“I do. You wish to find Ameras and this . . . does it have a name?”
“Not that I recall. Just a vague report in some old scroll.”
“It is called striekema by the Alka Alon,” he supplied. “It’s exceedingly rare. But I know where to find some.”
“So, one of the most sensitive minerals in the world, and also the rarest, is grown in a place with no magic?”
He frowned. “I’m not certain that the jevolars have much influence on it, but it’s possible. In any case striekema is not grown. It is . . . made.”
“Intriguing. If I can secure a supply of it, I think I can make a device that will be able to detect divine magic. And necromancy. Perhaps other energies.”
“It can sense all of those, and more,” he assured me. “You will understand, when you see how it is made.” He sounded foreboding about the subject. “Why do you need to sense divine magic?”
“It’s part of a spell I’m trying to re-create,” I explained. “If I can create a sensitive enough device, then I’m hoping to direct a spark of divine magic into a transformative wave that can transform silica into a substance we call snowstone. It dramatically lowers the etheric density in its proximity. It’s not supposed to exist in nature. Not even the Alka Alon have heard of it. Or the Vundel. But they have now, and they both want it, and I need to learn how to make it. Hence, I need this striekema. It’s the most important magical question since learning how to slay dragons.”
“Why would you want to slay a dragon?” Rolof asked, confused.
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