by Ugland, Eric
“But the maze might be a building?”
“It was built by the hands of man. Thousands of hands worked, and all were buried within it.”
“Sounds like a lovely place.”
“It is a sight to behold. Though once is enough.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“I have.”
“Where is it?”
“Far to the south, beyond what is now the Great Erg.”
“What is now the Great Erg? What was it before?”
“It was a mixture of biomes. Some of it lush and verdant, some dry. Arid scrubland.”
“And some horrible magical war turned the place into the wasteland it is today?”
“Well, there is a place known as The Wastes, and what you speak of sounds more along those lines. The Wastes is the result of the long and costly War of Dust and Glass. Three nations, once united, each determined to conquer the other. They all grew in power and destruction until, ultimately, they lost control.”
“Control of what?”
“Everything they sought to harness for their war. A hero of sorts sacrificed himself, and his order, to set the boundary of the Wastes. Nothing born within its bounds may exit. Some believe that is the only reason the rest of the world stands. The Wastes are considered a pilgrimage for some, as there are creatures within its boundaries one cannot even imagine. And, for those interested in the arcane arts, there is no other space as filled with residual magic.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it is nearly impossible to run out of mana in the Wastes. The abundance of background magic means your wells will fill as you empty them.”
“Seems like it might be a good place to hang out. Learn magic.”
“It might. But the creatures that roam those lands are fearsome indeed. Bending the laws of nature and magic in ways that still haunt my nightmares.”
“So you’ve seen the Wastes?”
She nodded. “I imagine you will ask how old I really am soon, and I will be forced to make some trite comment about asking a woman her age. As if it should matter. I am old. It is a virtue of my Choice that I am able to be as lived as I am. But it is also because of my class I am able to have seen more than is normally possible.”
“I’d love to ask you all about that.”
“You can ask all you like, Duke of Coggeshall, but it does not mean we will be talking about that today. Perhaps later, if you continue to improve yourself, I will see fit to let you in on some of my secrets. Besides, I believe we are getting off track?”
“Right. Buildings.”
“Yes. The Wastes have few structures remaining within it, and I doubt any of them would interest you.”
“Does anyone live there?”
“A few determined souls. The remainders of those three civilizations, all elves, continue to fight back that which they unleashed. But they lose more fights than they win. And I fear, in time, there will be nothing to keep the creatures within from throwing themselves against the magical barrier until it comes crashing down. And then, likely, the world with it.”
“You seem awfully blasé about the whole thing.”
“Likely I won’t live to see such horrors. Another mild silver lining to aging.”
“Awesome.”
“Don’t worry. You will find an orgy of death and destruction the likes you’ve never known, should those creatures come to your doorstep.”
“Great. Looking forward to it. Thing is, I’d really rather leave that whole Reign of Blood, Master of Destruction thing behind and build a nice peaceful corner of the world.”
“I have heard a number of your people say something like that. And yet, you seem to have more of a military than anything else.”
“Because this world is fucked six ways from Sunday. There’s monsters around every corner and under every rock. Assholes with swords are looking to enslave or oppress you at every turn, and the only barrier to any of this shit is overwhelming force.”
“The Vuldranni Way. Beat it into submission or kill it with extreme prejudice.”
“You know of a different way?”
“Not yet. But you understand the two things are at odds. If you want a peaceful corner of the world, you cannot be looking for a building like a mystical arcane library. Or a repository of weapons torn from legends. That will only make Coggeshall a natural target for every ruthless warlord and hopeful Mancer. You will be conquered, as there are powers out there greater even than all of Glaton put together. And bringing the Banamaðr Gáta into your walls will not provide the dominance you need to keep peace.”
“Any chance you’re to tell me what the Banamaðr Gáta is?”
She chuckled. “A terrible man, three thousand years back, was interested in nothing more than pain and destruction. He started a research institution dedicated to discovering every cruelty available. The Banamaðr Gáta was his laboratory, and his library. Some say there are spells and tortures held within those walls that would break even the gods. Some say the gods themselves oversaw the destruction of the Banamaðr Gáta.”
“Where was it?”
“Where the great White Volcano of Anterschwin stands now.”
“I guess having a volcano appear underneath your lab is a pretty good sign you pissed the gods off.”
She shrugged, and pulled out a pipe. She started packing a purple leaf inside, something that looked almost like cabbage. Then she pulled her thumb along her nose, and a flame came out of her thumbnail, which she used to light the pipe. After a few puffs, she blew out a perfect ring of iridescent purple smoke.
“Any other ideas, Duke of Coggeshall?” she asked. “Or are you understanding what I’ve been trying to tell you?”
“That anything obviously powerful is just going to make us a tempting target for someone more powerful, and we’ll get squashed in the process of someone else coming to get the building.”
She winked, and blew and arrow of smoke through the ring.
“Good luck though,” she said. “I’m insanely curious to see what you wind up choosing.”
Chapter Ten
I thought I’d have gotten more of a concrete suggestion from the historian. Sure, she made a good point, having a powerful building might make us more visible and primed for bullying. But a powerful building might also give us the capability to withstand anyone trying to come after us. I still wasn’t sure what to do.
Therefore, my next move was, naturally, more talking. I went looking for the witches. Which was actually a bit of a challenge, because they’d eschewed our initial offers of housing inside the mountain, and had, instead, made a small camp near the tree where Amber had lived for a time. I pushed through some undergrowth I swore had already been cleared out prior to building the walls until I found a few tents set up around a small fire. It was really rather quaint, straight out of some glamping catalog. There were small wooden patios in front of their canvas tents, structures that seemed large enough to sleep maybe ten or fifteen people. A heavy black iron cauldron squatted over coals, a delightful aroma wafting out of it. Cicily Bixby, the head witch, was sitting in a rocking chair, staring at the fire. Her two old hands were wrapped around a mug of something steamy.
“Mind if I join you?” I said.
She blinked, shook her head, and smiled at me.
“But of course, your grace,” she said. She gestured, and one of the younger witches, a student-witch I guess, brought a chair over before disappearing inside her tent.
“You, uh,” I started, looking around at the place, “have a nice set-up here.”
“You don’t need to call it more than it is,” Bixby said. “It’ll do for now.”
“Any reason you wanted to be out here and not inside with the rest of us?”
“While you seem to have no problem with us, I can’t think it wise for us to be, well, so integrated with the local population. Not yet at least.”
“Is there something special you need?”
Cicily patted my l
eg. Her hand felt oddly cool, considering it had come right off the steaming mug.
“Nice of you to be so interested,” she said, “but I’ve spoken with your chancellor, and he’s working on the situation.”
“Mind filling me in on what the situation is?”
“It’s a matter of proximity. We’ll be getting our own housing a bit farther away from the main living area. Just in case.”
“You think it’s going to be a problem?”
“At a bare minimum, we’ll have young ones practicing magic. No need to invite trouble.”
“I guess that’s a good point.”
“It makes little difference to us, staying outside for a little while. We are well used to dealing with such hardships.”
“I believe it. But let’s just say we had the ability to give you your dream facility, or building, what would it be?”
“My dream building? I suppose I’d take our valley back.”
“That’s a bit more than a building.”
“But it had all we needed.”
“Little more than you needed, really.”
“Yes, well, it would be nice if the spiders had been eradicated, but why complicate impossible dreams, eh?”
“The spiders will be eradicated eventually. They’re just, sadly, a bit further down my current to-do list.”
“It is generous you even keep it on the list, your grace.”
“I said I’d get you back there eventually. It’ll happen.”
She patted my knee again, and then took a sip from her mug.
“Would you guys find an arcane library useful?” I asked.
Cicily thought about the question for a moment, took another sip, then another, then finally nodded a little.
“I suppose there might be some use to it,” she said. “But I doubt in any sense you’re considering.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Witchcraft is not learned through books or rote memorization. It is an art form passed down, and it requires practitioners to identify what it is in themselves that makes the magic work in the manner they wish. Books are a crutch to the magic wielder, so while we might gain access to new spells, I fear it would only make it harder for our apprentices and students to grow into their powers.”
“Okay, so no arcane library.”
“You were considering building one?”
“I got a magic item that grants me a magic building. So yes, I was considering one.”
“Perhaps a garden would be an idea.”
“A garden?”
“Something like the Infinite Gardens.”
“I’m not familiar with that.”
“Oh,” she said, patting my leg with excitement, “it’s a fabulous place. Down in Carchedon, which is perhaps the only positive thing I can say about that accursed country, but it is where it is. Probably the only place it could happen, considering the labor required to build it. And maintain it. My gods, it must be an absolute nightmare.”
“But what is it?”
“It is a very large building which houses every known plant.”
“How big is this thing?”
“Very big,” Cicily said, eyebrows going up. “It wouldn’t fit within the walls of this little town. And it rises up into the sky hundreds of feet. A stepped pyramid, with water coming out of the top and falling down in these fantastic streams and waterfalls. There is certainly magic involved, because there is nearly every environment you can imagine. Even snow at the top. And inside are even more plants. I have no idea how they get light into some of their halls and rooms, but they do. And then there are the caverns at the bottom. Full of mushrooms and molds and slimes. It is one of the most amazing sights in the known world. A pity it’s impossible to visit.”
“Why can’t you visit it?”
“The Empire tends to view anyone who travel to Carchedon as a traitor. Or a spy. Either way, it is no easy task to get there. Certainly not at my age.”
“It sounds impressive.”
“It is a wonder.”
“Are there more wonders like that?”
“I’m sure. That I know of? A few. There is the Grand Theater in Muscato, said to seat three thousand people in absolute comfort. Or the Kennishraw Gates that blocks the passage east and west between warring neighbors. It’s said to be eight miles long and six hundred feet high, with seventeen towers each going nearly one thousand feet in the air. Snow is said to remain on the roof all year round.”
“Have you heard of the Breeding Pits of uh, somewhere?”
“Of course. The Breeding Pits of Krützheld. Though I’m not sure I would consider them a wonder, so much as a horror.”
“What are they?”
“The brainchild of a madman. Alonezo Banazzar. He felt the natural world was a poor breeder of beasts, and that he should take over. Truly terrible creatures have been bred within those pits. But these days, those allowed within are few. It is said Banazzar bred his own workers. It was easier than finding good help.”
“So who goes there?”
“Those with few morals and but a desire for monsters. There are a few armies who rely on the monstrous creations of the breeding pits.”
“Do they make good soldiers?”
“They make excellent deterrent. As of yet, I doubt anyone has had to fight them.”
“Okay, how about the fighting towers of Galladorn?”
She chuckled, and took another sip.
“I am curious who told you about these.”
“A historian.”
“Ah, that would make sense. A historian would tell you about the vile and heroic before the useful.”
“What do you mean heroic?”
“The fighting towers of Galladorn are the stuff of legends.”
“What are they?”
“I only know of them as stories. I’ve never seen them, nor do I know any who has. I cannot even tell you where Galladorn actually lies. Somewhere to the east over the Graston sea. But the towers are infamous.”
“Okay, but—”
“There are fourteen towers, each focused on a specific fighting style. Swords, spears, etcetera. The goal is to enter the tower and climb to the top.”
“And then? You rule the tower?”
“You gain admittance to the valley beyond. They are a testing ground. Only those who are skilled enough to climb the towers are allowed to proceed.”
“And do what?”
“That I do not know. But those who succeed go into the valley and never return.”
“Doesn’t seem useful for us either.”
“I doubt it would be.”
I shook my head, and looked at the cauldron bubbling away. I hoped it wasn’t something they were going to eat because it was such sticky stuff that the bubbles hung onto the surface for a moment before popping and leaving mozzarella-like strands behind.
“How do you know so much about all of this stuff?” I asked.
“If you are curious, it would behoove you to know where it is I came from before arriving in the Empire.”
“Where are you from?”
“Gottlund.”
“Not familiar with it.”
“I am not surprised. It is quite the distance to the south.”
“Have you heard of Gloomguard?”
“Oh yes!” she said with a smile. “My father made a trip there once.”
“Really?”
Cicily nodded, beaming with a smile I’d never seen on her before. “It was when I was a very little girl. My father was with a band of adventurers. Monster hunters, really. Gottlund has nothing like the Legion, so monsters are handled by private groups. My mother always blamed my father for my interest in magic, and that might be true, but it is hard to ignore the allure of the arcane once you have seen what is possible.”
I understood her happiness. The same as nearly any old person, she found joy in talking about her past. Hell, the same as nearly any person: finding joy in talking about themselves.
“The
team my father worked on, The Darkwalkers, were above average,” she continued, leaning back to rock in her chair. “They specialized in shadow magic and ambush attacks. I think, at least, this was a reason they thought to go to Gloomguard. That their reliance on shadow and darkness would help them fight in the Gloom. Or in the Maze therein. They went to Raim, then down to Gloomguard, and entered the Gloom. And the maze. They lasted two months. Of the eight who went, two returned. My father, and a broken shell of a person who succumbed to his own demons barely a month after.”
“Not a positive experience?”
“My father stopped adventuring after that. He settled into a series of disappointing jobs while drinking himself to death. He never spoke of what he saw when he was sober, but he would wake up screaming about things I couldn’t understand.”
“Sad tale,” I said softly.
“It was, for a time. Ten years later, a traveling witch struck the memories from my father, and he returned to the man he’d been in my youth.”
“Is that why you became a witch?”
“It was why I became a witch instead of a wizard, yes. Or a mancer as they call them here. The witch succeeded in saving my father where other magic users failed. When I was old enough, I found that witch, and I traveled with her. Learned from her. And the short version is that we made our way to the Empire after they conquered the country we were currently in, and we found our services in need throughout the Empire. Which lasted until my mentor was killed for practicing magic.”
“So that’s why you started the school?”
“It is humbling you think I started that school,” she said with a smile. “I found refuge at the school, and chose to remain because I’d grown tired of traveling. But it existed long before I ever did.”
“I didn’t know.”
“But I don’t think you should be looking for a magic building within Gloomguard.”
“Did you ever go there? Or hear any specifics?”
“Some. The city itself is a strange amalgamation of those who believe they are brave and those who are brave. Those who hold the line against the things in the darkness, and those who seek to profit from it. The buildings are squat, universally damaged. Death is a constant. Darkness is a constant. And any sense of comfort is foreign.”