Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “Where am I?” he demanded, his voice harsh. It echoed eerily in the vault’s recesses.

  “In Anas Yartharel,” Letharan said, sharply. “You are a prisoner.”

  “Where did the human female go?” he asked, “and that avian?” His voice was a whine.

  “She’s safe,” I answered. “I name you, Khudoz.”

  “Yes, that is my name,” the Nemovort agreed, dismissively. He pulled himself to his knees, as he stretched out his arms and felt their length. “What did she do to me?”

  “She placed you in an extradimensional space,” I answered. “You’ve been there for months.”

  “Really? That was unexpected,” he admitted, as the consequences of his circumstances occurred to him. “You survived, then. Did you destroy the city?” he asked, curiously.

  “Nay,” Letharan growled. “Not yet. But that day will come.”

  “I did manage to lock Korbal in his festering human body until it falls apart, so there’s that,” I added. “But you are now a prisoner of the Beryen Council, in Lord Letharan’s custody.”

  “Then I expect a swift execution,” Khudoz said, with an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose that is a just fate for such a scoundrel as I,” he said with mocking contrition.

  “We’re aware of the freedom that death would bring you,” Taren said, as he adjusted his wards. “We will not be tempted to slay you, just to encounter you again on the battlefield.”

  “I would not be wasted on the battlefield,” Khudoz sneered, haughtily, as he wiped at his nose. There was a trickle of black ichor running from it. “I am one of Korbal’s finest minds!”

  “You all say that,” I dismissed. “I’ve yet to see much proof of it. Save, perhaps, Mycin. She seems a lass with wit.”

  “If you like that sort of thing,” Khudoz said, finally standing. “We’re colleagues. She builds bodies. I slice them apart.”

  “She’s our prisoner, too,” I said, walking to within a pace of the containment circle. “She’s being held elsewhere. The rest of your rotting kindred are scattered across the lands, seeking in vain to overthrow the humani leadership. Myself, included.”

  “Yourself . . . You! You must be that wizard,” Khudoz recognized, glancing at the Magolith. “The one that Korbal was so vexed with. The one with the ego.”

  “Yes, Minalan the Spellmonger,” I supplied. “And it was my apprentice that you tried to kill at Olum Seheri, before she captured you so easily. So, I consider this a personal matter, as well as a military one.”

  “How utterly droll,” Khudoz said, rolling his eyes. “I had heard that you were a professional. I am a scientist,” he insisted. “I seek the wonders of the universe. I have no time for ‘personal’ matters.”

  “It seems to me that your time is completely at our disposal,” I reasoned. “How long, do you imagine, were you imprisoned in the wand?”

  “I would be curious to know,” the Nemovort sneered. “An uncomfortable experience. I hope you enjoy it, someday.”

  “Merely a year,” I said, pacing in front of the circle, Insight in hand. My baculus was monitoring everything about the conversation and relaying tidbits to the Magolith. I found that interesting, but I didn’t have time to explore it. “One year. From what I understand, your master’s hourglass is half empty, unless he can figure out a way to escape my spell.”

  “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?” accused Khudoz. “That will be your undoing, you know. And Korbal’s,” he predicted. “Ego always ruins the great.”

  “Ah, you think me great? I wouldn’t say so,” I demurred. “In fact, I consider myself a failure. As, I’m sure, do these noble Alka Alon,” I said, gesturing to Lord Letharan and Lilastien. Both of them looked at me curiously.

  “If I was the incredible humani prodigy that I was supposed to be, I would have returned from Olum Seheri with Sheruel shattered to bits and Korbal dead at the point of my blade. As it is,” I sighed, feigning defeat, “I have but little to show for it. Mycin Amana . . . and you. And Mycin is decidedly the more important piece to this game,” I said, shaking my fist. I was relying on Khudoz’s lack of experience with human expressions. It wasn’t my best performance. But despite his pretensions, Khudoz’s own ego would not allow him to be second-best.

  “Mycin Amana?” he scoffed. “She’s a distraction. Korbal is a fool to devote himself to such a fancy. Not when the real mysteries beckon so clearly. All of these new animals!” he said, enchantedly. “That . . . bird! That girl! So many new creatures to study! While we slept, a new world blossomed. We have an entire new biome to dissect, and he’s living in the faded past!” he sneered.

  “I am sympathetic,” I said, with an exaggerated sigh. “He’s set the least of his minions upon me and promises them great position in return for my head. It’s embarrassing,” I admitted, glancing at the others in the room. Gareth and Taren seemed confident of what I was doing. Letharan looked near to fits, over my taunting. Lilastien seemed open to my success or failure. “They sent Gaja Katar against me,” I sneered. “Why not send Stulka Dui? It would have been less embarrassing.”

  “A pitiful warlord!” snorted Khudoz. “He would do anything to curry favor with our dear lord,” the Nemovort said, as he bent and tried his muscles within the containment circle. “He’s no better than a thug, a mindless brigand who murders at command.”

  “Gaja Katar was not even that adept. He did not last long,” I conceded. “Even against me . . . and you know how exaggerated my powers are,” I said, sadly.

  “That is indeed what I told my master!” Khudoz insisted. “No mere humani wizard could be as formidable as rumor has it! You would trust the reports of the gurvani about such a matter? Why, the humani are no better than vermin! Fascinating in form, yes, but no better developed than the Tal Alon, or some of the poorer sorts of Karshak! I said so in open council!”

  “Yet there were those who spoke against you,” I said, sympathetically. “They came out in force, in your absence. Our spies heard what they said,” I added, as if conferring a secret. “It was not flattering.”

  “What did they say?” he demanded, suddenly. “Not that I care, mind you. I am one of the elite; my devotion is to pure science and observation. The nattering of sycophants concern me not. What did they say?” he urged.

  “That Khudoz was clearly wrong, in his estimation of humani magic. The old fool,” I added, because why wouldn’t I?

  “Yet it was not the great wizard, but a mere girl who took . . . me . . .” he trailed off.

  “Yes, I was thinking the same thing,” I sighed. “The great and powerful Khudoz, master of science and sorcery, with the resources of Olum Seheri at his command . . . was removed from play by a wounded bird and a little girl. Humiliating. Korbal was not pleased. That was what our spies heard,” I confirmed. “Among other maneuvers. In your absence, the power-centers around Korbal shifted, of course. Sheruel is captive. Mycin Amana is captured. Gaja Katar is defeated. I don’t even know if he’s been . . . reconstituted,” I added, referring to Korbal’s ability to reclaim and renew the enneagram of the Nemovorti into a fresh body after their deaths. I had no idea how it worked, or what was involved, nor did I truly know if Korbal had brought Gaja Katar back from the dead, but it seemed like a good tactic to take. And it had the desired effect.

  “And who did opposition form around?” Khudoz asked, eagerly. “Which of the thugs and charlatans stood forth as the new champion in court?”

  “At the moment, it seems Shakathet is the favored in Korbal’s eyes,” I said, reluctantly. “But that could change, depending on his fortunes. The sciences have been all but forsaken, in their quest for military conquest,” I continued, sadly. “Research has been all but halted, until Korbal is freed from his body.”

  “What?” Khudoz asked, sharply.

  “Before I departed Olum Seheri, I used the Magolith to bind Korbal to his current body. While formidable, it is also deteriorating. I doubt he has more than a year or two left. When it fails, his
enneagram will dissipate and not be recovered. He’s seeking a way to break the binding, but without the Magolith . . . well, the irony is that I will likely outlive your undead, immortal master,” I smiled. “Then Shakathet will take power, and I can contend with him.”

  “Shakathet?” Khudoz scoffed. “Unlikely,” he dismissed with a wave of his bony fingers. “He’s an able commander, but he lacks the political power to consolidate his position over the rest of the Nemovorti.”

  “He enjoys significant Enshadowed support,” Letharan suggested.

  “And others enjoy the support of the Alon Dradrien or the gurvani,” he rejected. “It matters not. Shakathet will not rule, despite his strong position,” he predicted. “He has not the knowledge or the subtlety to contend with . . . well, our greatest allies,” he said, breaking into a ghoulish grin. “Only one who understands them, and their interests, will have the power to bargain with them. Shakathet has not been admitted to those mysteries.”

  “So, who will rise, to take Korbal’s throne, when he has faded?” Letharan asked. “Who has the power to contend with these . . . other forces?”

  “With Mycin absent? And myself? Only a few know the nature of our potential allies. Fewer, still, who would have the courage to face them, let alone bargain with them, should we prevail. Only Korbal is bold enough to do both.”

  “What is so fearsome about these allies?” Lilastien asked, for the first time. She was in her original form, the short and naked one. She seemed strangely hesitant about approaching Khudoz.

  “They are vassals of the Formless,” Khudoz pronounced, enjoying the weight of the doom he spoke. “Agents of Those Who Dwell in the Deeps. Since ages past they have strived to free their masters. They have incredible power, dark forces the Alon cannot even comprehend,” he bragged. “Races who have sworn an eternal loyalty to those who live in the bowels of our world. They have contended against the Vundel to rule Callidore and free their masters from their prison!”

  “Why would Korbal even consider such an abomination?” Letharan asked, his voice hoarse. “To seek out such dangerous powers invites destruction!”

  “I said Korbal was bold,” sneered Khudoz. “It is perhaps his most intriguing aspect. What good is immortality if the world around us is doomed? He seeks the vassals of the Formless to form a bargain: our assistance with their quest, in return for mastery over Callidore’s surface, the defeat of the Vundel, and escape from this doomed world before they destroy it!” he announced, triumphantly.

  “You would set the world on fire to rule its ashes?” Letharan asked, condemningly.

  “Callidore will fall, one way or another,” Khudoz predicted. “Why allow such an opportunity to go to waste? If dissecting a living being during its death throes is instructive, imagine the potential research that could be done during the collapse of an entire biosphere? The emergence of the Formless from the Deeps will be but the final, inevitable act in the conclusion of the study. The ultimate scavenger species, devouring every bit of magic and destroying every rival. Perhaps what grows from the ashes would be better,” he considered, philosophically. “In a few million years, this might be an interesting place, again.”

  “You will not be around to see that,” I insisted, a growl in my voice I didn’t intend. It’s difficult for me to talk with an absolute nihilist without some visceral reaction.

  “I wouldn’t be so certain,” Khudoz shot back. “The moment I am destroyed here, I will be reconstituted anew in Olum Seheri. And Korbal finds me a valuable asset. He shall send for me, soon enough. I have knowledge that he requires,” he bragged. “If he is to assume his intended form, he needs my assistance. And that of Mycin Amana. He will spare no effort to do so,” he predicted, with confidence.

  “That doesn’t seem to be where his favorite, Shakathet, is focusing his attention,” I pointed out. “Indeed, there has been no real attempt to locate you, much less rescue you. And I need not threaten you with death to compel your advice: if I decide you are not useful, anymore, I will simply put you back into that timeless void . . . and destroy the key to it. You will be trapped in an eternal nothingness, forever, with no hope of escape. You will be forgotten, as if you never existed,” I pronounced.

  That threat did seem to disturb Khudoz. “Don’t lie to me, human!” he snarled. “Do you not realize who you have captured? You would be a fool to discard such an advantage! If he puts Shakathet in the field against you, it is to distract you from his attempts to recapture me! Other, wiser heads will be pursuing that while your armies slay each other. This is not a war that will be won on the battlefield,” he predicted, “victory will be snatched from the dark places in the world, in the Deeps and the catacombs, where the ancient powers lie in wait!”

  “I think he’s reduced to vague threats and obscurities,” I suggested to Letharan. “He tells me nothing about Shakathet. Perhaps he is useless, as you suggested. Let’s put him back in the hoxter and break the wand,” I proposed.

  “I would enjoy nothing more,” Letharan agreed, and reached for the wand.

  “Wait!” Khudoz nearly shouted. “I will prove my worth. Not that it will do you any good. Forces have already been set into motion. But Shakathet? He is a mere thug, without subtlety or curiosity. A mindless servant sent to remove a pest. He’s brutal,” Khudoz conceded. “But does he have leadership potential? I think not!” He stared at me with those cold, dead yellow eyes. “He can be fooled with a clever ruse. He has no capacity for novelty, and he is slow to react to quickly-changing conditions: if he should assume Korbal’s throne, it would be as another’s puppet.

  “Are you satisfied, wizard? Shakathet is a strong buffoon. He is a club for wiser hands to wield in the service of greater policies. He conflates complexity with sophistication and is easily distracted by unimportant details. The loyalty he demands is repaid in pain and punishment for the slightest failure or deviation from his plans. He is inflexible,” Khudoz summarized. “Present him with a puzzle and he’ll stare at it for hours, like an idiot child. I have told you what you wish to know.”

  “So, you have,” I agreed. “I therefore promise not to break the wand, once you are back inside.”

  “But I told you what you desired!” Khudoz protested.

  “And in so doing, you have proved your worth as a hostage,” I conceded. “Congratulations. You’ve saved yourself from the ignominy of oblivion. But that doesn’t mean you escape,” I continued. “It just means we’re putting you back in your hole and will take you out again when we desire.”

  “No! Wait!” Khudoz begged. “I have other uses! I am a genius! I know things about this world that not even Korbal suspects! I—”

  “You are one of the most murderous sadists the Enshadowed ever produced,” condemned Lilastien. “You are a stain on the very idea of science! Your research is an abomination, and all of it together does not justify the suffering you’ve inflicted! Begone, Khudoz!” she said, taking the wand in her little hand. It shook as she prepared the spell. “Back to the eternal void, which is more than you deserve!” she nearly shouted and made the Nemovort vanish.

  “Well, that was unhelpful,” Letharan said, dryly. Lilastien was still staring at the space in the confining circle where Khudoz had been.

  “On the contrary,” I countered, “it was extremely helpful. In a number of ways. I learned a lot about Khudoz, for one,” I ticked off on my fingers, “I learned a bit about Korbal, and a lot of useful things about Shakathet. More importantly, I learned that the Alon invited us to live on a doomed world,” I added, lightly. I took the wand that held the Nemovort from Lilastien’s shaking hands and replaced it on the rack where it had lain. “In fact, that’s the second time that someone has informed me that Callidore is doomed. No matter what. And since I know you two don’t like each other, you’re not likely to let each other get away with lying.”

  “That . . . is a deep subject,” Letharan said, quietly. “Not one for casual conversation,” he added, glancing at my fellows.


  “Oh, we’re all just good humani, here,” I said, sarcastically. “Who are we going to tell? The Vundel? They already know, apparently,” I pointed out. Lilastien looked startled. “And now we humani know. At least, a few of us wizards.”

  “What does it matter to you what happens to this world thousands of years from now?” Letharan challenged. “It will not be you who suffers through the terrors of its destruction.”

  “Who’s to say?” I challenged, getting that kind of righteous indignation that arises every time someone rubs their longevity in my face. “I might manage immortality myself, one of these days. But my descendants, Trygg bless them, should still be around. For their sake, and the sake of every human on Callidore, I think we deserve some answers.”

  Lilastien and Letharan looked at each other. Perhaps they were speaking mind-to-mind, or just thinking rude thoughts about each other – and me – but eventually Lilastien, surprisingly, spoke.

  “I will speak to the Alka Alon council about this,” she promised. “It is not a topic to be lightly discussed. Nor will you be seen as a . . . as an acceptable authority, by some,” she said, chewing her lip nervously. “There are protocols for that sort of thing. But I will bring it to their attention,” she pledged.

  “As will I,” Letharan sighed. “We do not want to instill a sense of panic – in your folk, or in ours. It is a delicate matter that must be handled . . . carefully.”

  “Well, do it quickly,” I growled. “Unless I do discover the secret of immortality, I’m only going to be around for another forty, fifty years or so. It would be nice to get a straight answer from you people before I die. Come on, fellows,” I called to Gareth, Ruderal and Taren. “Let’s go protect our mud huts from the mean bullies and let the grown-ups figure out how to save the world.”

  Chapter Eight

  The War Council of the Magelaw

  “An anxious mind seeks counsel and wisdom to soothe the soul.”