“That’s a testable theorem – provided you can appreciate their pheromones,” Ormar offered, as he sipped a gourd of beet rum. “Since we can’t, we’re left with an inadequate context. My gods, I can’t get drunk fast enough for this conversation,” he said, shaking his head.
“This is the sort of talk that makes me think I deserve the hangover,” Tyndal affirmed, taking another sip. “I’m starting to think that all great art revolves around a good scrumping.”
“That’s where it starts,” agreed Lilastien. “Even among the Vundel, believe it or not. They just have a very, very different idea of how that’s important. If you don’t understand the Vundel’s development and reproductive cycle, it won’t make much sense, but it’s at the core of their art.”
“I had no idea the Vundel even had art,” I confessed.
“You wouldn’t recognize it as such, if you heard it,” she agreed. “But all sapient species have art, from what I can determine. And all art revolves around birth, mating and death, in some form or fashion. Whether it’s good art or not, well, that’s highly subjective and subject to interpretation. But it’s all art. You have to have art in order to build culture.”
“So, fart jokes are art?” Tyndal asked, launching us into a much more banal cultural discussion.
We kept talking long into the evening, once again, the celebratory nature of the night giving us some momentum. Alya cuddled up to me and mostly listened, but she did interject, from time to time, often pointing out some surprising perspective she’d gleaned from her time studying the station’s archives.
When she wasn’t debating with the others, we carried on a lovely intimate conversation in whispers. It was mostly mundane stuff – how we missed the children, how savagely beautiful Anghysbel was, how she missed her cows, how we were enjoying the break in our responsibilities – and it struck me again that, for the first time in a few years, Alya seemed to be more or less back to Alya. She even laughed at the fart jokes in the appropriate places without a hint of confusion. Even six weeks ago, that would have been a challenge.
I was quietly amazed. I didn’t know if it was the lack of magic or the natural consequence of her treatments with the Handmaiden, but I didn’t care. I clung to her a little more tightly, after that, and we ended up excusing ourselves before the others to retire into the cave.
For the first time in a long time, I realized that I finally had my wife back. And that was a quest worth completing.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Moot of Midmarket
No one likes hearing bad news. But a good warning about looming danger is better than the unpleasant surprise of disaster. Yet, it amazes me how many worry about the price of beef while the bull is charging directly at them.
from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,
Recorded by Gareth of Vanador
“You’re telling us that the entire vale will be filled with fire?” asked Malartu, the mayor of Midmarket, after I’d made the general announcement. His expression was skeptical, and his tone voiced disbelief.
There were representatives from each of the settlements at the meeting – the Kasari, Anferny, Lakeshire, and the Kilnusk – and they were all genuinely upset at the news. The meeting had been called by Lord Kanset, on his father’s behalf – he was still recuperating – and he and his sister, Lady Tandine, led a delegation of more than a score from Anferny to hear the dire warnings of the Spellmonger in person. The Kilnusk were also well-represented by Prince Husadri and a half-dozen of his court, along with Masters Suhi and Azhguri. The place was crawling with Tal Alon, too. All three clans had sent robust delegations. There were more llamas than horses in Midmarket’s overcrowded stable.
“Not fire, exactly,” I answered. “Superheated gas. And probably pumice, ash, and all manner of noxious substances. But it will have the same effect. Anyone here when it happens is going to be as dead as by dragon fire.”
“But how do you know?” demanded one of the Tal Alon lordlings, in passable Narasi. “You are wizard, but you don’t have magic here!” he accused, as if he’d discovered something cleverly hidden in my reasoning.
“It is not magic that informs me,” I replied, patiently. “My ancestors had powerful devices that did not use magic. They set them here to watch for this very thing, to give us warning.”
“But what can we do about it?” one of the Anferny men asked, alarmed, his voice near despair.
“Move,” I said, firmly. “That is all you can do about it. This is a force of nature, not a simple foe. Unlike a dragon, this cannot be fought. It cannot be reasoned with. It cannot be bribed. It can only be avoided. You could no more survive this than you could venture out in a storm and not get wet. It is inevitable, and there is nothing that can be done to prevent it. If there was, I would be trying,” I promised.
“How are we to believe a wizard, a stranger to the vale?” asked one of the Kilnusk lords, indignantly. “No disrespect, but you come here from the south and suddenly pronounce such dire predictions . . .”
“I would be skeptical, too,” I agreed. “But I trust the devices of my ancestors. They accomplished mighty things, without magic. They had knowledge of the mountains and the volcanoes around you. They did not put these things in place with fell purpose. They were intending to preserve the live of the people, not take it.”
“When will we be able to come back?” demanded one of the Anferny petty lords, his voice pregnant with despair.
“The . . . oracle in the Cave of the Ancients says you may return in two, perhaps three years,” I pledged. “And you will have to rebuild. That’s unfortunate, but it’s better than dying.”
“How in six hells are we supposed to just abandon our homes and move?” another of the Anferny men asked.
“The same way your ancestors did,” Irimel, the Kasari captain, observed. “The same way ours did. This is inconvenient, but it’s not disastrous. If what Count Minalan says is true, it would be disastrous to stay.” Most of the Kasari, it seemed, were supportive of the idea – not happy, but supportive.
The Anferny men, however, were highly resistant.
“I’ve got fifty cows in my herd, how am I supposed to take them through the waste?” the farmer asked. “There’s no forage, there! They’ll die!”
“There’s a hundred or more peasants on my estate – they’ll not take to leaving behind their holdings. No, no, they won’t venture near the wastes, much less go through them. You can forget about that,” another said, with the dour tone of a Wilderlord. “Not on the word of a foreign wizard.”
“Then they will die,” I said, enunciating each word carefully.
“Cannot we shelter against this . . . this . . . eruption?” asked one of the Kasari, anxiously.
“When the very air you breathe is hotter than a smithy’s fire for weeks on end, how would you shelter against that?” Lilastien asked. “Not even the halls of the Kilnusk, as strong as they are, can keep out the poisonous gas or the heat. You will all suffocate.”
“Why should we believe this?” a lordling – probably one of the manor lords – asked, skeptically. “You may be a Count, or so you say, but you’re a wizard. You say the Bans have been lifted, but we’ve no word of it. Wizards are sneaky folk, I’ve heard – all the stories say so – so why should we listen to you?”
I sighed. There was a deep-seated distrust of magic and those who practiced it amongst the Wilderlords – all Narasi, really. It’s part of our culture, a remnant from the Conquest and its aftermath. Magelords just didn’t carry the same authority as Wilderlords, especially here.
Thankfully, Lady Tandine came to my defense – forcefully. She stood and reproved the man.
“If my father accepts Count Minalan as his overlord – and he has – then it doesn’t matter if you doubt him. He has sworn his fealty, and he has sworn to obey his lawful order. You must do likewise,” she said, her pretty eyes flashing warningly. I could see why Tyndal was so smitten with her. She had a lot of fire.
“My friends, I have come to this land many times, now,” he began. “I am not a stranger to you, and I hope I have gained your trust. If Count Minalan has determined that this is the course that need be taken to save his subjects, I will vouch for his honor. I have seen him at war, and I have seen him at peace, but I have never seen him act dishonorably, nor ignore the problems of the world over his personal interests. I beg you to consider him at his word. It is foolish to linger in a house afire,” he said, sagely.
And Tandine wasn’t done. When the footwizard finished, she lit into the reluctant men of Anferny like a scold.
“You wonder if you can trust the wizards? My father is able to walk again, thanks to this wizard and his folk,” reminded Tandine, pointing at me. “After years of pain, he was healed of much of it. And by the same oracle that gives this prediction.”
That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t think the average Wilderlord would appreciate the distinction between an ancient medical device and a Level Three Constructed Intelligence.
“He walks without support, once again. He has not touched poppy gum in a week,” she added. “His head has cleared from its effects. Neither pain nor medicine cloud his mind. He still recognizes his duty. I encourage you to do the same. Perhaps you think him a fool for his infirmity,” she said, hotly, “but do not pretend that I am a fool, or my brother!”
“No disrespect intended, m’lady,” grunted the man, chastened. “But I’ve got folk to care for and stock to look after. You want me to abandon them all, and all my holdings, on the word of a stranger. I don’t like this,” he said, shaking his head and folding his arms. “No, I don’t like this one bit!”
“Your lands will still be here, and eventually you will return to them. I will have to abandon my home, as well,” she reminded him. “You oversee a hundred men. I have responsibility for all of you. And Count Minalan has responsibility for all of us. If he warns of this danger, then I take him at his word. I urge you to think of your sworn duty and do likewise!” she said, intently.
“I know you are suspicious of my claim, but I would not make it if I didn’t believe it,” I assured him. “The . . . oracle of the Cave of the Ancients was built to watch the volcano and warn of danger. It would be foolish – and fatal – to ignore it. And I would not be doing my duty as your liege if I did not try to protect you from the danger it perceives.”
“Perhaps this will help settle your mind,” Lilastien said, setting her tray upright so that most of the room could see it. “I had Forseti prepare a more detailed simulation of the event in case there were any doubts. This is not magic,” she reminded them. “This is the craft of your ancestors. This is not prophecy; this is reasoned prediction of what will happen based on what the oracle has detected. Watch,” she commanded. “It will show you the alternative to migrating south.”
Before anyone could object, the screen began to show a detailed depiction of the earth bursting open with explosive force, and a massive cloud of gas belching rock and debris into the air.
The scene shifted and showed the effect on first the Kilnusk settlement, where nondescript dwarves either burned alive outside, or were quickly overcome inside their mountain, falling down, gasping for breath, and then lying still. It shifted again, this time showing the wave of superheated gas sweeping over the Lakeshire community. Tal Alon riding llamas or working in their gardens burst into flame or fell dead in an instant. The cloud blew over the lake and thousands of Tal in the central town died as they ran away in terror. There were squeaks and gasps from the knot of furry Lakeshire Tal as they watched the slaughter of their entire settlement.
The effects on Anferny were less brutal, but no less lethal. Cows, horses, pigs, and people all died in moments, their faces contracted in horror as they watched their world burn. Huge chunks of pumice and ash rained down on the few who survived the first burst.
Midmarket was shown being blown with a deadly wind, scorching the walls of the buildings while slaying every man, woman, and child within. A moment later, the Kasari encampment died – albeit slightly more peacefully – from asphyxiation as the gas turned their lungs into a furnace. The final scene showed an overview of the valley dotted with bodies, each settlement now a vast graveyard quickly being buried under a thick layer of ash. The screen went black.
“That is what you can expect, if you ignore Count Minalan’s advice,” she said, darkly, as she regarded the room. “The fact that he was able to learn this is miraculous. The fact that he’s able to give you more than a year’s warning is remarkable. And his willingness to help you flee before the flames and smoke of the volcano kill you all is an act of supreme generosity. Ignore him, and you will die,” she pronounced.
There was a long moment of silence as everyone digested the prediction. It had been graphic, perhaps overly so. I suspected Lilastien had encouraged Forseti to embellish for dramatic effect to change the minds of the stubborn. It seemed to be working.
“But where will we go?” asked the manor lord, fearfully, as his shoulders slumped in resignation.
“The Magelaw,” I supplied. “The eastern Wilderlands are my domain, from Vorone to . . . well, to here. They were depopulated after the goblin invasion, and there are still thousands of holdings that were abandoned.”
“I could settle all of you just in Callierd,” Tyndal agreed. He’d won a lot of respect from the Anferny men for his dashing ways, his skill with a lance, and his clear affection for their lady. “There’s good land there, for cattle and horses especially.”
“Vanador has settlements of Malkas Alon and Alon Dradrien already,” I informed them. “There is ample room for the Kilnusk. And there is a growing settlement of Tal Alon in the midland vales. I have recently arranged to give them control of their domains and live under their own leaders. The Kasari can return to Bransei or can settle in the Magelaw. I will ensure each of you, and all your folk, have a fertile place to stay while the volcano lays waste to your holdings. Indeed, many of you may not want to return.”
That seemed to disturb them more than the threat of mass annihilation, I noted. The men of Anferny looked at each other suspiciously, under the baleful eye of Lady Tandine. They still didn’t want to go. But I knew they would, once they got used to the idea.
“My sister and I will assist everyone in Anferny in this endeavor,” young Lord Kanset assured. “We, too, will have to abandon our patrimony and risk a new life in new lands. I pledge that, when all is safe once again, I will lead all who wish to return here back to restore our land. It will be a struggle. It will be a trial. But we are Wilderlords,” he reminded them, proudly. “We do not shrink from challenges; we embrace them. We are not ruled by fear; we are ruled by valor.
“We are faced with a crisis that could have ended us all, but we were blessed by the gods with good counsel from wise lords who value the lives of their people more than their holdings. They offer us refuge. They offer us new lands. For us and our friends in the valley. Perhaps you will find greater fortune and a better life, there. Perhaps you will want to come back here when it is safe. But we must leave, so let us leave in good order.”
His words were smooth and persuasive and delivered with the skill of an orator by the charismatic young lord. With his sister at his shoulder, giving everyone a meaningful stare, it was a highly effective presentation. Prince Husadri then rose and proudly declared that the Kilnusk would do everything they could to help move the valley. They didn’t need much persuasion. The Kilnusk had eagerly embraced the end their exile. Then Captain Irimel rose and affirmed that his people would make the transition, though I could tell he had misgivings. The Tal Alon conferred amongst themselves for a moment, and then one of the more-fluent
leaders stood and solemnly agreed that they, too, would heed the warning and leave their lives behind.
“Aw, bugger,” Malartu, the mayor of Midmarket said with a heavy sigh. “If all you lot leave, there won’t be much trading, will there?”
“Only between the Leshi and the lizard folk,” I agreed. “Believe me, you will find opportunities aplenty in Vanador. Indeed, we are in need of cunning traders, and our markets are filled with wares the likes of which you have never seen.” The man nodded, but still looked crestfallen at the thought of abandoning his home and his life for the unknown.
I breathed a sigh of relief. They had agreed to the move. Now came the hard part.
“I have detailed Magelord Gareth to coordinate the evacuation. He is one of my smartest and most capable wizards and is Steward of our largest city. He will be staying at the Cave of the Ancients and using the power of the oracle to help. Do not eschew his advice,” I said, sternly. “He acts with my authority in this, and I trust him to act with haste and care to ensure everyone can leave safely, with as much of their treasures as possible. I charge him to settle any disputes and plan the evacuation in good order. Heed him,” I urged. “Your lives may well depend upon it.”
When the meeting broke up, there were questions – thousands of questions. The shock of the decision to evacuate was still very much present in the delegations, but they were already starting to make plans with each other for the challenge ahead. Drinks were served, of course – on my purse. They had faced a difficult choice and would have to upset the lives of all their people. They deserved to get drunk about it.
I was cautious with the beet rum, myself. But when a tallish Lakeshire Tal approached me with a gourd of it, I felt obligated to take a sip.
“My name is Borage, my lord,” he said in good Narasi, with a respectful bow added in. “I wanted to thank you for what you have done. Those pictures frightened me.”
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