Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “I hate to take credit for that,” I objected. “That was mostly Terleman’s doing. And Sandoval’s.”

  “Trust me, they are both well-known in the gurvani ranks,” Briga agreed. “But as the Spellmonger’s men.”

  “So, should I take this secret alliance, or reject it?” I asked, perhaps a bit of a whine in my voice. It was the middle of the night and I was standing in a cold cedar grove. I was tired. I just wanted her to tell me what to do.

  “You should understand it, before you do either,” Briga suggested. “Ashakarl is, indeed, in a precarious position. He represents the last major power center of true gurvani nationalism in the Wilderlands. All of the other rebels to Korbal’s rule have fallen or consolidated under Ashakarl’s banner. The tribal chieftains are content that they have returned to their ancestral hills and see their quest fulfilled – they never desired the war of genocide the Black Skulls preached. For their part, the Black Skulls are demoralized and divided. Without Sheruel uniting them and giving them purpose, they’re acting like a bunch of sulky backwoods spellmongers without a client.

  “Then you have the human renegades,” she continued, lecturing. The goddess started pacing, leaving steaming footprints in the ground behind her. “For the most part, they were forced to swear loyalty to Ashakarl under duress, but they’ve stayed true to that oath, bound by circumstance or their own feelings of honor. In return, they’ve supported him against the other forces in his court. They’ve also managed to run the remaining functional estates far more efficiently and productively than the settlements the gurvani have ruled. That makes them economically valuable,” she added.

  “So, what do I do?” I repeated, getting a little exasperated.

  “What is it you wizards usually do?” she asked, snorting. “Be subtle. Suggest a few simple experiments, under the cloak, if you will, and then evaluate them. If they spark, feed the flame,” she shrugged. “There are worse outcomes than having an independent gurvani state on your frontiers.”

  “Currently, Korbal’s minions lie between us,” I pointed out.

  “Not as much, after Gaja Katar’s defeat,” she countered. “Indeed, some of the tribal chieftains are already considering expanding their territories and raiding what’s left of his lands. There isn’t much in the way of organized resistance, there,” she pointed out.

  “But then there is the Nemovort Shakathet,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, there is Shakathet,” she frowned. “He builds an army twice the size of Gaja Katar’s, and he isn’t an idiot, alas. He will strike at you soon, and not at Spellgate,” she added.

  “Is that prophecy?” I asked. I had to. I hated prophecy.

  “That’s an astute observation,” she countered. “All indications point to him attacking across the big rivers and trying to get behind Spellgate. Probably from the south,” she added, after a moment’s divine contemplation. “That’s about all I can give you, right now.”

  “That’s helpful,” I decided. “It confirms some of what we’ve discovered about his plans. We focused most of our defenses in the northeast, over the winter. I’m certain our southern flank appears vulnerable.”

  “Your southern flank is vulnerable – even I can see that,” she agreed. “A feint at either Vorone or Megelin is probable,” she continued. “But there is no doubt that Shakathet will invade Vanador. For it is on the road to a jewel he covets even more: Anas Yartharel.”

  “Ashakarl isn’t going to be able to help with that,” I sighed.

  “Not directly . . . but Shakathet is not the only Nemovort you face,” she reminded me, unnecessarily. “In general, I tend to favor the possibility of an alliance. Driving the gurvani out of the hills would be exceedingly difficult, even without the Enshadowed and undead to contend with. That may be a portion of the Wilderlands that may have to be permanently ceded to Ashakarl, in such a case.”

  “That’s going to make some Wilderlords very unhappy,” I pointed out.

  “What Wilderlords, Min?” she asked, skeptically. “Most of the native Narasi cavalry in that region perished early in the war, defending their homes from the surprise invasion at the fords of Bonser. What few of their heirs survived are lucky to be alive. They’re in the Wilderlaw, or in Vorone, or already under your protection,” she explained. “They aren’t in any positions to make demands of you. You have sovereignty over that region, according to Anguin. It’s your decision.”

  “That’s it,” I said, waving my pipestem in annoyance. “Kick the problem downstairs. But if you can assure me that Ashakarl is sincere . . .”

  “As much as I can,” she agreed, with a fiery shrug. Don’t ask me how you give a fiery shrug. She managed. “That’s no guarantee that you won’t get betrayed, or he doesn’t get defeated or overthrown, or any number of catastrophic things . . . but he is sincere. If you accept, he plans on proceeding in good faith, I think.”

  “You think?” I asked, skeptically. “This is a decision that could compromise my entire realm.”

  “It’s the best I have to offer,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Nothing is certain, Min. Not even me.”

  I sighed. “Thank you. And . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she nodded. “I actually understand. It’s a difficult decision. He’s an enemy. Even if you ally with him, he’ll never be a friend.”

  “But I could use a few thousand less goblins who want to slit my throat,” I mumbled. “I should use Gurkarl as an ambassador?”

  “Emissary,” she corrected. “His diplomatic standing is . . . dodgy, in Ashakarl’s court. Half of the gurvani think he’s a heretic, the other half believe him a savior.”

  “Because of his imprisonment by the Spellmonger?” I asked.

  “No, actually. Because of his cooperation with the Alka Alon council. There remains deep suspicion of them among the gurvani. More than for their more recent enemies.”

  “That’s interesting,” I noted, thoughtfully. “All right. Thank you again. You’ve been quite helpful,” I said, figuring our discussion was over. I was mistaken.

  “Oh, no!” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “This is the first decent invocation from you in months, and I’m not going to waste it. I need a few things from you, Minalan,” she said, evenly.

  “From me?” I asked, surprised. “You know, I’m in the middle of a war right now, engaged in secret negotiations with the enemy, while trying to save the world,” I reminded her.

  “You’re between wars, actually, I just helped you with those negotiations, and this concerns saving the world,” she retorted. “It’s wizard stuff,” she added, after a pause.

  I sighed. “Well, I guess that’s me, then,” I admitted. “What service may I do for you, oh goddess?” I asked, with just a hint of sarcasm.

  “You need to acquire an arcanist,” she replied, her pretty lips twisted into a half-smirk. “You have too much wood in your fire, right now, and you need some rocks around it.”

  “Come again?” I asked, confused. “Perhaps I’m missing the metaphor . . .”

  “You have a lot of different projects underway,” she said, slowly and patronizingly. She began to tick them off on her fingers. A lick of flame curled up every time she touched one.

  “Establishing the Magelaw. Building Vanador. Discovering the secret of snowstone. Negotiating with the Vundel. Negotiating with the Alka Alon. Negotiating with the gurvani. Building magical wonders. Discovering the fate of the Forsaken. Forging a lasting alliance between the Alka Alon and humanity. And shepherding a small crowd of persistent gods,” she added, her smirk finding fulfilment. “That’s a lot of sticks on fire. You need a ring of rocks to keep it contained, and a warden to tend them all, lest you court disaster.”

  “Do I have to sacrifice something to get you to speak plainly? An arcanist?” I asked. “What is that?”

  “You need a specialist in the general. A devotee of the obscure. Someone who can keep the various flames going, but not so voraciously that they consume eve
rything else. You need an arcanist.”

  “I . . . need an arcanist?” I asked, still confused.

  “It’s a general term for a generalist,” she explained. “It hasn’t been used much since the Magocracy, but there are a few who still find their passion in obscure texts and outlandish accounts, not in honest thaumaturgy or enchantment. They learn a bit of everything and try to establish the forest, not the trees. In the Magocracy, many noble houses of magelords had libraries and laboratories staffed with an arcanist or two. It was recognized early on that over-specialization can lead to gaps in research. An arcanist can take a look at a project and often add perspective, based on the occult lore he has accumulated.”

  “So . . . it’s just a wizard who knows how to look stuff up,” I offered, skeptically.

  “There’s more to it than that,” she dismissed. “But you need one. Get one. Indeed, you already have one, if you think about it.”

  “An arcanist. Fine. Anything else?” I asked. Did she just want to give me staffing advice, I wondered. I didn’t mind the payroll cost, and the social status of employing my very own arcanist would no doubt make me the envy of the thaumaturgical community – who already envied me – so I’d get an arcanist.

  “Yes, actually. That pyromancer who did such a delightful job burning down Tudry? I want you to send him to the Stenchworks to work with Ormar. He needs some advanced training.”

  “No problem,” I agreed. I couldn’t even remember the boy’s name. He’d been working at Yltedene, helping with the foundries, but we could spare him. “Next?”

  “Be on the lookout for more gods showing up in unexpected places and ways,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Our efforts to find incorporated divinities are starting to pay off. The problem is, we don’t know exactly how or who,” she admitted.

  “Well, that’s helpful,” I snorted.

  “Just be prepared for sudden expressions of the divine occurring that lead to an appeal for permanence. And . . . not all of them will necessarily be as cooperative and helpful as Ishi, Herus and me.”

  “You think Ishi has been helpful?” I asked, chuckling doubtfully.

  She looked uneasy about that. “Great mystic forces are in play,” she explained – or at least tried to explain. Being cryptic is one of the prerequisites for godhood, apparently. “The rapid ascent of the Spellmonger into the affairs of Callidore, and the changes you have wrought, have shaken the pillars of the world. The ripples of that have reached the ears of the divine. There is no predicting what may arise as a result. Be . . . be very, very careful with whom you invest the gift of permanence, Minalan,” she warned.

  “I always am,” I assured her, knowing that it wasn’t, technically, the truth. I’m sure she knew it too, but she had the divine grace not to point it out. “But speaking of ‘great mystical forces,’ what is this that Moudrost told me about the end of magic in a mere three thousand years?”

  Briga looked deeply troubled, then, and made a stunning admission. “I don’t know, Minalan,” she confessed. “None of us do. That was the first time it was revealed to us. Which brings me to the last request: find out what Moudrost meant about that. Because that would be the end of us all. That is another reason why I suggest employing an arcanist. That secret has been kept from us, and it will take a fiendishly clever mind to unearth it in its entirety. One who can be devoted to the task.”

  “How do you expect me to figure it out?” I challenged, a little irritated at her confidence. “Besides hiring an arcanist?”

  “Because you keep figuring things out when you’re supposed to be getting slaughtered by dark lords, assassinated by your feudal rivals or blown up by your experiments,” she shot back. “Don’t ask me why you’re being successful, it’s beyond my power as your patroness to determine. As I said, great mystical forces are at play. Forces beyond the mere divine.”

  The “mere” divine. That would require further contemplation, I realized. Perhaps with an ecclesiastic consultation. And a good deal of drink.

  “Moudrost said that we’re moving into some sort of dark region, or light region, or something,” I mumbled. “And that we had three thousand years. And that the Vundel are panicking about it. All magic will fade,” I recalled the Seamage telling me.

  “Then we must know the details . . . and why we were denied this information. If the Alka Alon know, we want to know why they didn’t tell us. If the Sea Folk are preparing for mass extinction, that might affect humanity, too. Find out what is actually happening, Minalan,” she ordered. “That seems like an appropriate challenge to a wizard of your stature.”

  “You feel I lack appropriate challenge?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “I want you to make this a priority,” she said, unwilling to rise to the bait. That told me how serious she was being. “Above everything else: the war, Korbal, even the Forsaken. Without magic, the gods . . . well, we won’t exist in this form anymore,” she said, sadly. “Not that it would matter. We wouldn’t have any humans to shepherd. Without magic, the world of Callidore as you know it will die.”

  “I realize that,” I sighed. “I don’t take issue with the mission, Goddess, merely your confidence in my ability to fulfill it.”

  “Can you think of anyone else who could manage?” she asked, a fiery red eyebrow cocked.

  “Off the top of my head? No, not really,” I admitted.

  “Then you’re the wizard we have,” she said, facing me. “Don’t make me turn this into a divine command,” she warned.

  “Have I ever refused you? I shall do this,” I agreed, “if I can. I’m more than a bit curious and terrified by the idea, myself. I’d like to understand it. And I’m curious as to why you do not.”

  “I’m a Narasi divinity, Min,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “I only started to manifest four hundred years ago . . . and we didn’t talk to a lot of educated urban deities, up in the Vorean steppes,” she said, guiltily. “We were in a cultural and military war with the Empire. And the sea gods of the northern seas are not a chatty bunch. Even after a bunch of us became syncretized with some of the local gods, we didn’t always retain all of the lore of the Imperial side. But, from what we can tell, they didn’t know anything about it, either.”

  “I’ll question the Alka Alon about it,” I volunteered. “And Forseti. But we may end up having to ask the Vundel.”

  “That might prove awkward,” she guessed. “Let’s see what we can do on our own, shall we? You just go finish up your little war,” she proposed, “and hire a good arcanist, and we’ll talk later. Don’t worry, I’ll banish myself,” she said, disappearing in a flash of flame.

  I sighed, took a piss, and then went back into the tavern. Tyndal and Mavone were drinking from a flask, passing it to Koucey as if they were gentlemen in a salon.

  “After consideration,” I said, putting my pipe away, “I think I favor this alliance. As a temporary, experimental endeavor,” I added. “But we have some conditions.”

  “His Majesty suspected you might,” Koucey agreed. “They are?”

  “For one,” I began, “Ashakarl must be willing to stop eating humans.”

  “That is already being considered,” he agreed.

  “He must stop warring on my frontiers and pledge to withdraw any territorial ambitions against the Kasari tribes, to the north. In return, the Kasari will stop any raiding into your territory.”

  “That would be agreeable,” Koucey nodded. “It would allow Ashakarl to redirect forces from his northern borders to his southern frontiers, where the greater danger lies. You can foreswear the Kasari will obey your command?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “I have a lot of influence with them, of late,” I said, without elaborating. “Next, his court must renounce their genocidal mission. If we agree to cooperate with the Goblin King, it won’t be so that our descendants can fight for their lives against his descendants.”

  “I will relay that request,” Koucey agreed.

  “Lastly, I w
ish for him to repatriate any human slaves in his lands who wish to leave. I will make room for them in my lands. Human lords and their vassals who wish to remain under his banner . . . we will not attempt to compel them,” I said, a little darkly. Those renegades were widely feared and hated in the eastern vales of the Wilderlands. We didn’t want them.

  “There are few, but I will pass along the request,” Koucey sighed. “In return, any gurvani who wishes to defect from Korbal’s legions to support Ashakarl will be allowed to peacefully do so. We will spread the word,” he added. “We have many confederates within his ranks, gurvani who have not had a chance to desert. Yet.”

  “I can agree to that,” I nodded. “Perhaps we can arrange some sort of exchange, later.”

  “There is the matter of shared intelligence,” Koucey continued. “We will pass along what news we have and will expect the same in return.”

  “Mavone is my chief of intelligence,” I said, earning a short bow from the man. “He will arrange the details.”

  “I’ll likely use Jannik,” Mavone suggested. “He is known to both sides. I can have him meet your agent any number of places along the Penumbra.”

  “Yes, he’s a clever one, for a minstrel,” Koucey conceded. “His family has always been involved in affairs in the north. My man will be a fellow named Lersan. A former carter. He’s an aide of mine, of sorts. What password shall I give him?”

  “Biscuits,” I suggested, in honor of Briga. She appreciates that sort of little touch.

  “And honey shall be the countersign,” Mavone agreed. “Where shall they meet?”

  “Vorone?” suggested Koucey.

  That took me by surprise. “Vorone? You have agents there?”

  “I do, but they are in my service, personally,” Koucey said. “They know not for whom they truly work. Lersan is the one I send there to collect the news. He has a talent for escaping notice.”

  “And Jannik compels notice to the distraction of anything else,” Mavone nodded. “A good pairing. And when shall we expect him?”