by Wilf Jones
A live dragon settling in their camp might stir them up more than you need.
‘That I am prepared to risk.’
Astoril 3057.8.8
She sat on a crumbled wall, tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Are you lost?’ the man asked gently but the girl didn’t look up at him. Her bare slender legs were grubby and the long black hair tumbling over her shoulders was in a tangle from inattention but she was a pretty little thing. And upset.
‘Was this your home?’
The girl nodded.
‘And where are your parents?’
She hid her face.
There didn’t appear to be anyone else in sight.
Five minutes later on an elderly woman came out of a house in the opposite terrace, drying her hands on a towel.
‘Elsa, Elsa,’ she called out, ‘Where are you, my darlin’? Elsa?’
She looked up and down the street, eyed the still standing front door of her daughter’s house, shivered a little as she did so but saw nothing.
‘Where is that girl? Elsa! Elsa, where are you?’
‘Anything the matter, Mrs Fornum?’
Mrs Fornum scowled at the neighbour who’d come out to see what the trouble was.
‘Well everything’s the matter, isn’t it? What’s right about any of this?’
‘Nothing m’love. But some have it harder than others.’
‘Ay, well.’ Mrs Fornum nodded. ‘It all comes one thing on another. That’s the problem. First our Tom with the cancer and Jess having to work so hard to keep them; then all that trouble with the bailiffs when he died. But she never gave up. Always had a smile for you. She’d just got herself straight and… and now this happens. It’s not right…’
Her face crumpled.
‘Now then. C’mon m’love.’ The neighbour reached out but the old woman pulled away.
‘They got her up to hospital quickly enough though, didn’t they? They’ll know how to look after her. They will.’ The neighbour didn’t sound all that convincing or convinced. ‘It was her legs, wasn’t it?’
‘Ay lass, lintel stone fell on her. I tried to shift it myself but it was so damned heavy. Lom Tanner got some lads… and when they lifted it… Oh Mary, she’s such a good woman. It’s not right for this to happen. It’s not right!’
Her neighbour reached out once more but the old woman still wouldn’t have it. She stood stiff and alone with her arms fiercely folded. ‘Our Elsa’s taken it bad. Cries all the time whenever she’s not shouting. I’m too old to be looking after a child, Mary. I tell her to sit and she stands, I tell her to hush and she screams at me, I try to give her a hug and she runs. What am I to do with her?’
‘She’ll come round.’
‘Not that I blame her: she was such a little love.’
‘Ay, and she still is.’
‘But where’s she gone this time? I’ve told her over and over to keep out of that house.’
‘She won’t be in there, surely.’ The neighbour stepped up to the door of the ruin. ‘Elsa? Elsa, are you in there? Elsa, come on out, your gran’s that worried about you.’ She listened. There was nothing except maybe the noise of the mice skittering through the fallen bricks and timbers. ‘She’s not here, Annie. She’s like to have gone up to the hospital, ha’n’t she?’
‘Oh I suppose so. She will keep going up there, though we’re not long back. I’d better get my walking stick – why everything you need has to be uphill I don’t know.’
‘Now then, m’love, let me go up for her.’
‘No, her mother’s trusting me to keep her safe: I’ll get her.’
‘Right then, I’ll walk with you. Just let me tell our Will and I’ll be ready.’
‘You’re very kind Mary. You’ll forgive me my sharp tongue?’
‘You can be as sharp wi’ me as you like, Annie Fornum. Just you go and get your stick.’
THE BEST OF MEN
Astoril 3057.8.8
‘Crossings? Dark Gods? Exiles? What are you talking about? Are you mad?’ Alling was scathing. ‘It’s all very simple isn’t it? Bliss is a villain trying to make trouble – whether for gain, or revenge or sheer delight in malice I can’t say. Athoff is a warmonger trying to build an empire. It’s as straightforward as this meeting is overlong.’
Seama sighed audibly. He looked down at the papers on the table and said nothing. What could he say? Unexpectedly Keth Hardie came to his aid.
‘It would be comforting, Mart, to believe this all a straightforward matter of greed and common malice; comforting for all of us, the Lord Seama included. There he sits with his tales of the past spread before him and an unshakeable conviction that they are true. But why should we believe him? Of course he has always been seen as a bastion of the truth, but perhaps on this occasion he is misguided; perhaps the trials of the past months have affected him more than he knows. And you may be right to say that the villains we already know are more than capable of causing all this misery by their own deeds and designs without any need to speculate upon monsters from another world. The problem I have, Mart, is that I do believe what Seama has to say and I am not comforted.
‘Already monsters from another world have been seen: the demons of the Black Company bringing ruin to the people of Eastern Aegarde; a real live dragon that hung in the skies over this city while its smaller brethren brought fire to our streets. We live our lives in Gothery struggling to alter the world around us according to the dictates of science and engineering and rarely do we give real credence to the other powers that affect us. But we are alone on this continent in thinking this way. Elsewhere wizards and sorcerers are woven through the fabric of society; though we choose to think of the Wizard’s Council of Errensea in merely political terms, its influence is respected the world over. It seems that magic is all around us. Seama’s battle with Bliss was ample proof of that. And if magic is present why can we not go further than that? I have heard from witnesses on the day of the battle who speak of a strange presence investing the streets, a presence that deeply shocked all who felt it. Why should I not believe Seama when he tells me that this presence was nothing less than the essence of the nature god Bor’eth? He knows more about these things than I do. And if we can talk of nature gods then surely it takes little imagination to take one step futher.’
‘Take as many steps as you like, Prime Minister,’ said Alling with a sneer, ‘But you will not convince me that this is anything more or less than the nonsense we had from the other conjuror. Where is the evidence? Where is the proof? I cannot be the only one to doubt him?’
Gurdy Younger took him up on that. She didn’t seem best pleased by the General’s attitude.
‘General Alling! Your argument is reasonable and must be heard, doubt must be given breath, but your lack of respect, sir, is something that must not be continued. Our Prime Minister was appointed by the King as your superior and you would do well to remember it.’
Alling’s sneer didn’t disappear but he said. ‘I will remember it, Minister, just as I remember that the defence of this nation lies primarily in your hands rather than mine. But it is my duty as master of his majesty’s forces to make sure that our actions are based upon truth and good sense. And so I ask again without apology, where is the proof?’
He glared provocatively at Seama but the wizard merely smiled.
‘You seem determined to pick a fight, General, but I have no problem at all in providing proof.
‘Some people might think my interview with Uh Bib when he thought I lay dying, or the interrogation of the spy was evidence enough. But of course villains have been known to lie. Some people might think all the events of recent months indicative of something quite extraordinary happening in this pleasant world of ours, but of course coincidence has made fools of mankind through the ages. Luckily w
e need not rely on these things at all. Ladies and gentlemen, it is quite simple: I am the proof. I just need to tell you why.
‘As we have explained, Haslem wanted to leave the book as a warning but there’s a problem in doing that. Haslem was ancient when he died, more than eight hundred years old. His great age gave him a perspective on the future that few of us can match. We tend to live in the present, we remember little of the past beyond a few generations and rarely think more than twenty years into the future, one generation or two. Of course thinking in that way it is no wonder that the power of warnings fades. Haslem knew that his fears may not come to pass in a thousand years and yet still represent to every year between a clear and present danger. Think of those who live in the shadow of sleeping volcanoes: the danger is evident but through years and years of inactivity people forget to be scared or even watchful. It is worse with this threat of the Exiled because all knowledge of the true past has been lost. So what to do? The Song of Ages is Haslem’s answer to the problem.’
‘Hardly a matter for deep thought,’ Alveson again, ‘To put it in a book!’
‘Perhaps a few of us would see that as the answer, Admiral. But Haslem knew he had to do more. A book is a fine thing and might easily keep the truth alive for a thousand years but not if it is lost in an overgrown library, and not if the language no longer makes sense, and not if the legend therein begins to sound like the insane babblings of a fantasist. That is why Haslem made this book.’
Fel Awdrey nodded at the bundle of papers in Seama’s hand. ‘Not much left of it, Seama. Looks like fire and water has scuppered us whatever Haslem intended.’
‘But that’s where you’re wrong, Fel. The book was a success. It did its job before it was destroyed. What Haslem did was to make the book call out to one particular type of person.’
‘Someone with Power, you said.’
‘Yes, I did, but I could say more. Actually Haslem is quite specific about who will be called, which is why I consider it merely coincidence that Uh Bib came to know about the book. According to the Introduction the book is designed to call out only to The Sayoshant. The Sayoshant is quite specifically a person who will know the danger and will know when the threat is imminent. If he couldn’t know that, then the book couldn’t call him. It is a matter of logic. The book will call only to someone who can recognize whether or not the Exiled are at hand. That person is always the Sayoshant of his age. If there is no Sayoshant then the book will remain unfound.
‘So you see, ladies and gentlemen, the proof that what the Song says is true, and the proof that what I say is true is remarkably easy to find. I am the proof because I am The Sayoshant.’
Gurdy Younger squirmed, very obviously, in her chair. Seama was aware that the meeting was taking up such a length of time that it was bound to be hard on the flesh, but he realised that it was not physical discomfort that moved the defence minister.
‘I am not, Seama, utterly convinced by your logic – it all rests rather precariously upon the notion that everything you say is truth – but even were I convinced by your honesty, I would still have a problem.’
This wasn’t very promising. He hadn’t necessarily expected them to swallow it just like that but he thought Gurdy at least might be on his side. ‘Yes, Gurdy?’
‘Yes. You’ve used the word a number of times now. Tell me, what exactly is The Sayoshant.’
Seama more or less collapsed into his chair; he was shaking.
‘Lord Seama!’ Gurdy struggled to get up to go to his aid.
Angren snorted and shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t bother, girl,’ he said, ‘he’s just laughing. Wake me when he’s finished, won’t you.’
And he was right.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Seama gasped, trying to suppress the tremors, ‘Sorry.’ He breathed deeply a few times but giggled a little more; he bit on his sleeve, buried his head in the folds of his gown. Eventually it stopped.
‘Ah, yes. Sorry. Ha! Ridiculous. Me, I mean.’
All around the table were faces of outrage, annoyance or just plain astonishment. Angren and Fel aside, they all looked so serious it made him want to laugh all the more. He put that thought from his mind and tried to think more sensible thoughts. He needed to control himself: that was one; and then he asked himself why he had reacted so extravagantly: and that was another; and then he wondered if he was completely himself: and that did it. First the battle and now this. Very odd.
‘Yes Gurdy, once again I ask you to forgive me. Having the whole story in your head is a good thing but it’s so easy to forget what you have told and what you have not: difficult to remember what is known and what is not known. Sayoshant. A strange sounding name. It is one of the most ancient Medean names known – indeed now I think that it may extend through many ages of the world. We translate the word as a phrase: ‘The Best of Men.’ A grand title! Not one for a modest man, but you must understand that it’s not merely some vague description that could apply to many an honest soul. The Sayoshant is a title gained by a person who has completed a specific task. That I have done and so the title is mine.’
‘And the task was?’
‘Well Gurdy, I did think I might be able to get through this meeting without troubling you with that particular detail, but I now see that you’ll have to know something about it. I’ve already told you about the existence of Kentreth’s Grave, or The Place of the Choosing. My knowledge of it is not book-learned but born of experience. I have walked the path through the vale, I have undergone The Choosing and been returned to Earnor with The Greater Power.’
A clamour of comment and question burst out on both sides of the table and went on for some minutes, with Seama struggling to answer each and all coherently. He insisted this was not the time for detail. The plain truth, he told them, was that he, Seama Beltomé, was The Sayoshant, and therefore the book had called to him and to him alone, and these two facts together should be proof enough. He was beginning to feel weary of it all.
‘So you are The Best of Men?’
The voice rose through the babble. Seama cast his eyes down the table to see his friend, Terrance De Vere, leaning forward the better to be seen.
‘Terrance?’
‘So you are the Best of Men?’
‘I… well only as I explained.’
Angren had been waiting for this. Ever since they had arrived in the ruins of Astoril and heard of the battle, De Vere had been hopping mad about it.
‘The best of men?’
‘Look Terrance,’ Angren said, ‘Can’t we do this later?’ If ever a discussion needed to be in private this was it. The people around this table really didn’t need reminding of all the death and destruction. ‘We’ve more important things to talk about than Seama’s er… qualities, and I’m sure everyone agrees with me. So…’
Seama sat back in his chair, a thumb stroking his chin, eyes alert, both hilarity and weariness forgotten. Terrance would not be stopped.
‘I think not, or rather, I happen to think this point at least as important as the rest. Our leader, for that’s what he is, should be our example in all that may follow, should be the best of men. I want to know why the best of men has wantonly destroyed the most beautiful city of our age. A city of art and science unrivalled on the continent. Perhaps he can tell us? Perhaps he can ask himself why this should have happened?’
‘But it wasn’t Seama destroyed Astoril,’ Angren protested. They had been through this already and Angren was exasperated with Terrance’s continued refusal to see things the right way. ‘It was that other wizard, that uh-Bib; everyone knows that.’
‘Do they indeed?’ Angren hated the way Terrance’s words needed no shouting to aid them. ‘Do they, Seama?’
Angren threw up his arms in disgust and turned away from the argument. It was up to Seama now; Angren understood none of it. He knew that Terr
ance was one of those sensitive types, a man for high culture, but surely even he realized that war had its casualties: didn’t care whether it spoiled a pig-sty or a temple. For all De Vere’s dandy dress, Angren had at least come to expect common sense.
Seama leaned forward, frowning. ‘What are you saying, Terrance?’
‘Don’t you know? Simply, it seems to me, you cannot wholly pass-on all the blame to your enemy, can you? From what I heard, this uh-Bib was fleeing the city, and had left quite some time before it was flattened.’
‘Yes, and so?’
‘So why was the city destroyed?’
‘We were engaged in conflict. He challenged and I responded. I needed to stop him. Just because he escaped me doesn’t mean the attempt was wrong. In our conflict we each released so much energy in such a way as to cause the earth to move.’
‘And in so doing destroyed the totem of every thinking man. You say you responded, but was it necessary? It seems to me that you fell prey to pride. You wanted to prove your power over all others. It was Seama Beltomé and no one else who allowed the conflict to escalate. If you had simply allowed the wizard to go, none of this would have happened.’
‘It was my duty to prevent his escape, or to try. He is a formidable enemy and may still cause us great harm.’
‘So why didn’t you pick an easier way of killing him instead of showing off, throwing the earth about. Why not shoot him with an arrow or something.’
Seama looked annoyed and Angren expected strong words, but then the wizard’s countenance took on a thoughtful look.
‘He is a Wizard of immense power – at least he was in that moment. Translocation and movement is the most draining use of power and I sought to tire him, to break his defence. He should not have had the strength to respond… and maybe I should not have had that degree of power to attack.’