It was rather basic, merely a lean-to shelter, a cookfire with a few pots and baskets of supplies, and a privy. It certainly lent credence to the (altogether untrue) notion amongst humanity that the Alka Alon could persist on air, water, and thinking good thoughts. Most peasants would consider it a demonstration of abject poverty.
But I recognized it for what it was: a camp, not a home. The Alka Alon consider places that they inhabit for a few centuries as “temporary,” so passing judgement on Ameras’ lodging didn’t seem appropriate. Especially since the lady was present.
Indeed, I spotted a diminutive figure squatting next to the fire, bringing it to life with gentle blowing as we rounded a bend in the lakeshore. She peered at us curiously, with a hint of alarm, until she spotted a familiar face. As soon as she saw Rolof, she beamed. Then she came running to greet us.
I’d forgotten how striking she was, even for an Alka Alon. When I’d first met her in the tree-city of Amadia, she had enchanted me with her exotic beauty. I’d encountered a lot more Alka Alon since then, and almost all of them were impressive. But Ameras maintained a unique bearing that made her distinctive amongst her attractive kinfolk. She portrayed equal portions of femininity and innocence in a way that not even Lady Varen – the most aloof and enigmatic of the three Emissaries – could manage.
But behind that beauty, I recalled, was a sense of wisdom and understanding that only Lilastien had matched, in my experience. Sure, you can portray that sort of thing just by being reserved and aloof, but that falls apart under scrutiny. There were plenty of goofy Alka Alon in Vanador masquerading as sages just by being quiet and smirking a lot. Three minutes speaking to Ameras, however, and you recognized what wisdom was.
Or I could have just been under a powerful glamour designed to make me think that, back in Boval Vale. My chat with the Aronin, before he died, certainly suggested that. Apparently the mystical Alka Alon are just as much willing to cheat as the human magi.
Still, there was something genuine and authentic with the way Ameras greeted Rolof. Their embrace, while a bit awkward due to differences in height, was unmistakably sincere. As was her clear delight in his unexpected presence in her camp. Whatever else was accurate about the relationship betwixt wizard and elf, there was clear affection between them. I found that intriguing for a variety of reasons.
“I present Ameras, of the Avalanti Kindred,” Rolof said, when they broke their embrace. “Visitors, seeking your counsel.”
I was concerned by how the Scion of the Aronin appeared. I have more experience around the Alka Alon than most, of course, and I’d become somewhat familiar with their subtleties. To my eye, Ameras looked like some kind of depraved pixie, too long sundered from those forces that would steady her resolve and contribute to her health. There was desperation in her eyes, deep longing, and a sense of despair. Her hair was a mess. Her thoughts were fleeting and troubled. She attempted to conceal it behind a layer of unpracticed formality, but she lacked the Alka Alon’s usual subtlety, I noted.
Ameras’ pretty eyes darted around haphazardly, and she quivered and jerked in her movements – a far cry from the typical physical grace her people displayed. She was agitated and hopelessly trying to suppress that agitation, if I was to judge.
But she was trying. As surprised as she was by our unexpected appearance, the poor thing was trying.
“A few, at least, I know,” the Alkan said, as she turned to regard us. The suspicion in her wildly darting eyes was replaced by recognition. “Elre!” she said, at once as soon as she spotted Lilastien. “You are free?”
“On parole for a mere decade,” the Sorceress of Sartha Wood nodded, sourly. “Just to fight the Abomination. And worse: Korbal the Necromancer has been released from his tomb, along with more than two score Nemovorti. And I bear a request from the Council,” she added.
The news shocked Ameras, clearly. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth gaped.
“Korbal? And the Abomination?” she asked, shaking her tiny head.
“An unfortunate and lamentable circumstance,” I agreed. “My lady, we met once on the eve of your flight from Amadia. I am Minalan—
“The spellmonger,” she nodded, recalling our brief encounter. “That wizard. Zagor’s friend. And your apprentice, too – I do remember,” she agreed, as she recognized Tyndal. “In truth, I did not expect you to survive.”
“In truth, neither did we,” I confessed with a shrug. “Many did not. Yet, thanks to your sire, we were able to escape the Abomination at the last moment. Alas, he was taken by Sheruel and then imprisoned by Korbal. Betwixt the two of them they conspired to strike at fair Anthatiel and conquered it. Then your father was taken there and held in the dungeons of the ruined land. It is called Olum Seheri, now,” I added, sadly. I paused. “Much has happened since you fled Amadia.”
She seemed genuinely shaken by the news – her long ears drooped, and her chin quivered as she heard it. “This is dire news, wizard,” she said, simply, as her eyes dropped.
“I was with the Aronin in his final moments,” I continued, cautiously. “He had words for you, should I find you to relay them. Now is not the time, but I wish to speak of his wishes.”
“Of course,” Ameras nodded. “His thought was always toward those he held dear. What a strange turn of events,” she added.
“My lady?” Tyndal interrupted, suddenly. “You recall me?”
“I do, my boy,” she assured. “You were a lad of eager enthusiasm, as scared by me and my kin as you were the gurvani. You have matured, in the manner of your folk.”
“My comrades are Taren, Ormar, and Fondaras,” as I indicated each. “Fellow wizards sworn to my service. And this is Travid, of the Kasari. Our guide.”
“Come enjoy what little hospitality I have to offer,” she said, indicating her camp. “It will be good to speak to others, for a change. I have been here long with naught for company but Avius and dear Rolof. It has been a lonely time.”
“Then may I offer a draft of herkulinen?” Lilastien offered.
“You have some?” Ameras asked, surprised. “I exhausted my supply years ago!”
“I anticipated the need, my lady,” Lilastien assured, pulling her silver flask from her pack. “I know all too well the burdens of solitude.”
Herkulinen was, I knew, the special spirit the Alka Alon required to preserve their long, long lives. It’s made from a special nut and is often present in small quantities in their food. It augments the entrainment effect we’d observed in the Alka Alon, facilitating the gestalt that helped make them so powerful.
When mortals consume it, I’d discovered, it can produce a kind of madness of its own, over time, though the immediate blissful feeling it commanded in them and (amongst the magi) the increase in their command of their powers made such notions laughable.
If deprived of it, it can cause a kind of low-level madness in them. To the Alka Alon, social interaction is a vital element of their lives. Herkulinen eases that madness and provides the reagent their bodies and minds needed to indulge in the gestalt. I’d witnessed myself the results of herkulinen deprivation in the Aronin. Korbal knew what seclusion and lack of their special nut juice would do to an Alkan. It created an exquisite torture that punished his enemies in a particularly insidious way. He’d looked a lot like his daughter appeared, come to think of it.
With a hint of ceremony, Lilastien presented the flask to her, and Ameras bowed gratefully. She took three grand sips from the flask before she replaced the cap and returned it to Lilastien.
In moments, there was a visible change in her. Ameras became more focused, more relaxed, and less desperate than she appeared when we first arrived. Not a lot – she was still jumpy and awkward in her movements and speech. But she seemed a little calmer and less threatened by our presence.
“Thank you, Lilastien,” she said, her voice a near whisper.
“Ithalia came with us, as well,” Lilastien said, carefully. I realized that she was using her “physician voice�
�� with her – an entirely unmagical ability that she used when treating someone. “You recall my granddaughter?”
“I do!” Ameras said, enthusiastically. “She was always so much fun – spying on the humani lads, tricking the Hulka Alon in their lairs. Wild adventures, we had in our youth. She’s here? That is marvelous!” She led us back to the encampment between the boulders, where she built up the fire while we spoke. “And then all the tragedy happened,” she sighed, as she stirred the coals with a stick.
“We do have much to speak of,” I reminded her. “News from the last few years. Indeed, we have been seeking you since the fall of Amadia—”
“Oh, Amadia never fell,” she assured us. “It lies dormant and sleeping, evacuated of my folk, but it never fell to the Abomination. It would have taken the molopor, itself, to assail the songspells that protect it. My sire and his sires before him strengthened it beyond reckoning. When I left, the last of us to go, I set the wards and consigned the place to stasis.”
“That is good news,” Lilastien agreed. “If they are, indeed, that strong. The enemy is resorting to dark sorcery and darker alliances,” she reported, as she squatted in the brush, her plasma rifle slung over her shoulder. “That’s one reason the Council enlisted me and Ithalia to find you.”
“Why does the Council need me?” Ameras asked, guardedly. Rolof took over the housekeeping duties, casting occasional glances at his friend as he rummaged around in her supplies and removed an Alkan style clay pot that wasn’t particularly big – but then, neither was she. I was gratified that Fondaras and Travid both took out the Kasari iron pots they carried and began pitching in.
“Because there are dark tides rising, Ameras,” Lilastien said, thoughtfully. “And the world is at risk. The Vundel are restless,” she said, which was news to me. “The Council is at odds, after Anthatiel fell. Lord Aeratas died and then rose again under Olum Seheri, where he protects the legacy there. The Nemovorti have risen, and Korbal is leading them to our destruction. The Enshadowed go forth boldly to lead their legions of gurvani and do the bidding of the Nemovorti. The distant realms aren’t interested in our problems, since our most recent transgressions, and now the humani are the only ones who stand and fight against the twilight with any regularity. And they, only reluctantly.”
“We’re trying,” I protested. “But the lack of candor by the Alka Alon Council has made things . . . difficult,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“When haven’t they?” Lilastien snorted. “But they are becoming desperate. They have sent me to ask you to grant them access to Kova Salainen. Things are dire enough that they wish to open the vault.” Her words were simple, but they produced a dread silence, and a look of horror on Ameras’ face.
“I . . . I cannot,” she said, shaking her head, firmly, but frantically.
“My lady, the situation is bad, and the outlook is poor,” Fondaras said, gently. “I only understand a tithe of what Count Minalan and Lady Lilastien do, but from discussing it with them, I know that great destruction and torment will happen sooner or later, without strong action. I know not what secrets lie within this vault, but if there was ever a time for them to be released and revealed, it is now.”
“You must understand, Fondaras,” Rolof said, after clearing his throat, “Ameras is from a long line of Aronin. Guardians. A family of deep commitment to their ideal. They are the conscience of their people over the most dangerous of secrets. They were established because their dedication to that conscience is absolute. Their judgement in such matters is informed by the strictest ethical and moral considerations. They were established to be beyond the authority of the Council, itself. They cannot be ordered, only persuaded. They are accountable to nothing but their own conscience. They will not betray it, if they think the request unworthy and unethical. She would rather die than do otherwise.”
“Some things are just too awful to see the light of day,” Taren agreed, thoughtfully. “Some secrets should stay secret.”
“You are essentially correct, young man,” Lilastien nodded. “But they are guardians of our most powerful secrets. They are not implacable. It has been known for ten thousand years that the secrets they guard would be of need, someday. The Aronin were established to keep our baser instincts from abusing the great power we have accumulated.”
“Like the molopor,” Tyndal offered.
“Aye, like the molopor . . . the molopor my line lost control over,” Ameras said, sadly, looking over the lake. “Three great treasuries were given to my line. One has fallen, despite our best efforts. And is now in the hands of an insane foe. When my father and his fellowship departed to defend it, I was hopeful. He has guarded it since my grandsire gave him the charge on his deathbed. For millennia, we have kept it secure against the Enshadowed and all others who might misuse its properties . . . until now,” she said, mournfully.
“Aw, don’t worry, Ameras,” Tyndal shrugged, with bravado. “It’s a temporary circumstance. With your help we can knock Korbal back to his crypt and turn Sheruel into the centerpiece of a truly fine chandelier . . .”
Despite her obvious despair, Ameras giggled. I caught a brief glance of gratitude from Rolof. Interesting.
“Without the weapons in that vault, that’s going to be difficult,” Taren assured. “We’re good wizards, my lady – Minalan is the best of us – but we are barely holding our positions against the enemy, in the Magelaw. If it wasn’t for humani cunning and the stupidity of our foe, we would have been overrun, already. The Alka Alon Council has helped sustain us, it is true, but they woefully underestimated the complexity and subtlety of our foes and suffered for it.”
“You do not have to convince me of the vile nature of the Enshadowed,” Ameras said, with a shudder. “We have striven against their dark ideology since before we came to this world. They have continuously assaulted us, tried to trick us, to know our secrets and take them for their own foul purpose. I know my duty to my line. While others demurred and proclaimed their ideology was dead on this world, still we kept watch. We knew the danger. Those who have no greater creed than power should always be stood against.”
“Then, I do not understand your recalcitrance, my lady,” I sighed. It was time to be convincing. “I am young, compared to the least of your kin. Yet even I understand that the Enshadowed have made a play against the Council that hasn’t been seen since Korbal and his minions were entombed.
“Our foes make cause with the darkest of the enemies of this world: the Formless and their vassals. Their goal is no less than domination of the world in its last throes. How can that not be sufficient cause to open the vault you have been given care of? I appreciate a good ethical argument as much as the next wizard, but if there is a more appropriate situation to consider the merits of you charge, I have not the wit to recognize it.”
“It is more complicated than that, Master Wizard,” Ameras said, a little sarcastically, under the circumstances. “Have you wit to understand what manner of arsenal lies within the vault? Our former homeworld was wracked near to ruin, thanks to their power. Our new home was imperiled from the moment of our arrival thanks to the weakness of my folk. The Council is asking me to release terrors on the world that we have invested mightily to bury. Whatever foe we face, the tools we use to contend against them must not be more vile than what that enemy promises. Of that, I am certain,” she declared, resolutely.
“The world flies toward ruin, and you take issue with we who fight against those who would cheer on its demise?” I asked, skeptically. Sure, it was a potent and somewhat insulting question.
“Would you see worse suffering due to the ruin my folk have carefully stowed away? I know little of your folk, from our rustic enclaves, but it is well known that they eschewed great destructive power to cheat those who would have attempted no less than what the Enshadowed desire. Would you foreswear their sacrifice because of this situation?”
“What do you mean?” I demanded.
“Minalan, the reason t
he New Horizon was sent away was because it was commanded by those who planned to . . . to . . . to eradicate magic on Callidore,” Lilastien revealed, reluctantly.
That was news to me. “My people? How did we have the capability of . . .” I trailed off. “We’re farmers and mariners, not . . . not . . .”
“And yet you managed to cross the Void without magic,” she reminded me. “It was a radical faction, akin to the Enshadowed amongst my people. They had some sort of plan to do so. I don’t know how – it was covered up before the details came out. It was not a popular opinion. They figured that the planet would survive the plan, but that the Vundel and many of the Alon would be exterminated, leaving humanity in charge of Callidore. It was foolish. But they considered it an option. There was a crisis. And the New Horizon was exiled as a consequence.”
“How could they possibly have planned to take magic away?” Fondaras asked, confused.
“I don’t know,” Lilastien sighed. “I had already left Perwyn at the time, and things happened very quickly. A plot was discovered. It was a very small faction,” Lilastien repeated. “Not well-respected. It was not a popular opinion. But there were those humani who thought that the world would be better if the Sea Folk were extinct, the Alka Alon driven off, and the other Alon subjected to humani oversight. They had a means of enacting that dark policy. Thankfully, it was challenged, and the New Horizon was sent into the abyss.”
“Why would my people try to kill magic?” I asked, aghast. “Especially knowing what the consequences were?”
“Because colonial doctrine allowed for such measures,” Lilastien insisted. “If it was a choice between the rest of Callidore and the humani colony, they were instructed to preserve your people at all costs. Even genocide. Things were nowhere near that bad, of course, but every race has its psychotic hotheads. Yours just seem to find their way into the military.
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