Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “It’s become fashionable, amongst a certain social set,” I agreed. “You should consider getting one. Particularly now that you’re married.”

  Sandoval frowned. “Min, I appreciate you screwing around with the ancient past and unknown enchantments and the laws of reality and such, but you really need to be careful about that old stuff,” he said, worriedly. “You remember what problems those things caused from the Magocracy!”

  “Relax, this one is far tamer than the Staff of the Archmage,” I promised. “And far less potent. Indeed, Forseti was involved with the terraformation effort, and was lost long before the Magocracy rose. Currently, it’s a disembodied voice who has been marginally useful in answering some of my more obscure questions. Perhaps Heeth can get more out of it,” I considered. “He’s an arcanist. He enjoys the obscure.”

  “Forseti is seeking to improve his condition,” Ruderal added, enthusiastically. “Particularly his power.”

  “It was power that the Staff of the Archmage sought,” reminded Sandy, grimly.

  “Different kind of power,” Ruderal said, shaking his head. “Electrical power, in very specific ways. Just blasting it with lightning won’t work – I asked,” the boy added. “Right now, Forseti is surviving on an extremely limited amount supplied from daylight. He used the metaphor that it’s like have a big empty belly and a very small mouth. But it’s possible,” my apprentice said, examining the equipment in the cave closely, “that some of these components can be used to augment his abilities. Give him a bigger mouth.”

  “And perhaps feet,” I said, as I moved over to one of the other pieces in the chamber. About as big as a wheelbarrow, it was a longer rectangle with an even greater array of unusual projections and protrusions. Like the larger machine, it, too, had the two parallel red bands painted around its circumference. Unlike the larger, it wasn’t mounted to the floor, but stood on six odd-looking wheels.

  “This is some sort of mobile device,” I decided. “The terraformers used passive sensors to monitor the land, it is said, but they also used engines such as this to travel the land, counting birds and squirrels or something.”

  “Do you think Forseti could use it as a cart, Master?” Ruderal asked, curiously.

  “Because a dangerous intelligence is somehow more comforting when it’s mobile?” Sandy asked, sarcastically.

  “We can only investigate the matter,” I nodded, “but I’m hopeful. Really, Sandy, Forseti wouldn’t harm anyone. It’s dedicated to the success of the colony. Which means our success,” I argued. “As frightening as this ancient, immobile little cart might seem to you,” I teased, “I think we have the resources to defend ourselves.”

  “I’m not an ignorant peasant, Min,” Sandy replied, evenly. “I know what these things are – in the abstract,” he admitted. “They’re merely tools. Really sophisticated, sometimes dangerous, occasionally deadly tools that we know little or nothing about. I read a lot of Magocracy-era literature when I was in school,” he explained. “Almost all of those fables have the tekka doing something disastrous or hilarious or both. Like the Tale of the Horse and the Scooter, or the Wain With the Metal Wheels. And there are plenty of purely historical accounts about how our ancestors’ toys turned against them.”

  “You’re being paranoid,” I pointed out, a little critically. “But you aren’t wrong. Some of these things can be dangerous. That’s actually what I’m hoping for. Would it soothe your superstitious peasant imagination if I had Lilastien take a look at it, first? She was on Perwyn during the colonization. She’d know what this stuff is better than anyone, and perhaps understand what it does.”

  “Ah, let the immortal Alka Alon sorceress mess around with ancient artefacts her people didn’t build?” he snorted.

  “We let Dunselen mess around with irionite,” I countered.

  “And see how that turned out? Go ahead, Min,” he sighed. “You’re the Spellmonger. This is the kind of crazy wizard stuff that you do. I’m merely a normal warmage and thaumaturge,” he reasoned, folding his arms. “And yes, I am paranoid. It makes me good at what I do.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “But, in this case, we’re going to take a few risks. We have to, for reasons that are too complicated to go into and to controversial to defend. It’s Spellmonger stuff,” I summarized.

  “Of course it is. Fine. But what do I tell Iron Peg?” he asked, clearly irritated.

  I straightened from examining the little cart. “Tell her that the Count of the Magelaw is confiscating this stuff and declaring this cavern a strategic county resource for the coming war. If she objects, I can confiscate the entire cavern and deny her its use. If she still objects, I can remove her from her domain,” I pronounced.

  “That should be persuasive enough,” Sandy agreed.

  Iron Peg was, actually, quite willing to part with the ancient junk in the corner. It had no value to her, since it was not iron and couldn’t be sold at Vorone. She was much less enthusiastic about letting outsiders know about her hidey hole, much less use it.

  “It’s just too strategically valuable,” Sandy argued, as we concluded the negotiations. “We can conceal two companies of infantry here – there’s even a stable, of sorts, and a portion of the tunnel large enough to conceal a few squadrons of cavalry. That element of surprise could turn the tide of the invasion,” he persuaded.

  “It’s my family’s legacy, to keep this place secret!” Peg declared, her pipe clutched between her defiant lips. “It has sheltered my line for generations!”

  “And it shall continue to do so,” I agreed, “as long as your line holds these lands. But such a secret is of little use, if it is not exploited in a timely manner, Lady Pegala. Kept to yourself, this cave would allow you to survive the war. Used to effect, this cave allows me to win the war. I hope you can appreciate the distinction. And the implicit threat to your rule,” I added, conversationally.

  “Aye, you’re my liege lord,” she said, with reluctant bitterness. “Ruled by a fool wizard – what’s the Wilderlands coming to? But I swore my oath. I’ll do my duty. Take that ironmongery, if you wish, we can use the space. Use the cave. And let not one man more than you need know about it. But I command my castle,” she insisted. “Iron Hill is mine to command.”

  “Agreed,” I nodded. “But I will insist on putting a warmage or two here, to coordinate your defense with the other castles.”

  “More fool wizards, a bloody waste, if you ask me,” she grumbled, shaking her head.

  I persuaded Lilastien to pause her oversight of the new hospital and inspect the equipment in the cave, as much to properly identify it as to mollify Sandy’s concerns. It didn’t take her long. After a few moments of examining the pieces, and a few pregnant pauses as she recalled information she had learned dozens of human lifetimes ago, she reported to me with a grin.

  “Yes, it’s a simple monitoring station,” she assured. “Late stage in the terraformation process, I’d say. It was designed to evaluate the health of microorganisms, atmospheric gasses, radiation, biological markers, oh, a score of factors that the terraformers watched to see how well the biome graft was taking. These little rovers,” she said, indicating the over-achieving wheelbarrow, “would go out periodically, sniff the air, dig in the dirt, and count insects, plants and animals.”

  “Does it still work?” I asked, curiously.

  “Oh, goodness, no!” Lilastien said, shaking her head with a giggle. “Their power sources were only designed to last a decade or so. When they ran down and no one came by to recharge them, they would have stopped working.”

  My shoulders sagged. “So, this won’t be of use to Forseti,” I sighed.

  “What? No, Min, this is an invaluable find! This equipment is almost pristine – oh, the rover has a bit of wear, but it’s still completely intact. In fact, it has an independent, rechargeable power supply, as well as a solar array, since it requires a lot of energy to move around and conduct sampling. When it stopped receiving instruction from the b
ase unit, it went into a dormant mode to conserve what it had.” She knelt to caress the thing like a dog – but exposed an interior panel, instead.

  “Don’t break it!” I urged, as she snapped open a metal cover. She ignored me, and I felt a little foolish. Of course, Lilastien knew what she was doing.

  “Actually, this little one has almost twenty-two percent power left. That’s remarkable, considering its age. And if I recall, these little fellows had a full array of . . . yes! See this long tube, here? That’s a boom arm. It can produce a solar array similar to the one Forseti is using now – only larger and a lot more efficient. I doubt it could charge the rover back to full power on its own, but it’s easily three or four times more efficient than what we’re using now,” she declared, confidently.

  “Well, that will extend the time we get to speak with him,” I conceded.

  “It will do more than that,” she assured, as she poked at the panel. “This fitting, here, is an override cradle. Ordinarily, this little thing operates from instructions from the base unit and doesn’t need much more sense than a mule to conduct its missions. But if a more nuanced mission required a stronger intelligence, a smarter machine could be grafted onto this chassis. One like Forseti. That would allow it to use the unit’s sensors, operate its motors and wheels, and, most importantly, use the internal communication devices.”

  “Why is that the most important?” I asked, curious.

  “Because it will allow Forseti to . . . to speak with other bits of tekka, and in some cases command them.”

  “You seem to put a lot of faith into this . . . this disembodied voice,” Sandy remarked, frowning.

  “Forseti is a simple machine, compared to some of the devices your ancestors built,” Lilastien explained. “They graded their mechanical servants in five levels of intelligence. The first level were devices even simpler than this rover. This fellow has a Level Two,” she said, patting the machine affectionately. “Simple decision making, about as smart as a dog or a horse.

  “Forseti is a Level Three, with some interesting augmentations, about as smart as a human or Karshak. Level Fours tended to conduct large, intricate operations, like scientific endeavors or large-scale projects. Level Fives were the most specialized and did things like running entire cities or scientific installations, directing colonial policy or commanding spaceships. They were almost as smart as an Alka Alon. Most of the serious problems arising in the later Colonial period were the fault of the Level Fives,” she finished.

  “What level was the Staff of the Archmage?” I asked, suddenly very curious.

  “That was a particularly egotistical Level Five,” Lilastien frowned, her face immediately troubled.

  “The ones who were almost as smart as Alka Alon,” Sandy reminded her.

  “Why, yes,” the Sorceress of Sartha Wood, agreed, appreciating his sarcasm. “In fact, the intelligence of the Staff of the Archmage was one of the central planning intelligences for the colony. It was once in charge of all of Leden City, on Perwyn, and was one of the few to escape the . . . unpleasantness before the Inundation.

  “While instrumental in re-forming the government, it was also ruthless in its administration. And that caused problems,” she conceded, solemnly. “But that’s ancient history; I’m more concerned with current events. Allowing Forseti to utilize this rover and the components in the base station will not be the start of some cataclysm. And it might actually be helpful,” she pointed out.

  “Besides, we resurrect ancient horrors from millions of years ago to imbue our thaumaturgical constructs with a semblance of intelligence,” I reasoned to Sandy. “Bringing one of our ancestors’ servants back into its rightful service surely can’t be more dangerous than that.”

  “You’re the Spellmonger,” he shrugged. “If you see a need for this, of course I approve. As long as you understand that I reserve the right to destroy it, if it goes mad and tries to kill us all,” Sandy insisted. I was startled. His tone was virtually identical to Iron Peg’s concession to explore the cave.

  “That’s why I keep you around,” I agreed.

  Transferring most of the equipment back to the cave at Spellgarden was easy enough with a hoxter pocket, and it had the added benefit of instantly freeing up enough room to board even more horses in the cave. I left Sandy to his logistics and planning, and returned to my estate, where I detailed Ruderal and Gareth to improve Forseti’s lot, as well as they could.

  As eager as I was to see the result, other matters became more pressing almost as soon as I returned to Vanador. I had a trio of spies to interrogate. The entire affair had arisen while I was at Iron Hill and had resolved itself before I returned.

  It seems that an enterprising drunkard in Vanador had noted the arrival of three Gilmoran knights, doing their best to disguise themselves as Wilderlords, conspiring in a tavern near the city’s nascent gates. Alarmed at what he overheard from three so blatantly disguised individuals, he enlisted the attention of Fondaras, the head of my Field Wizards, with whom he was acquainted. The old footwizard did a neat job of surveilling the men, himself, with magic and in person. When he was convinced of their intentions, he alerted Gareth’s office, who sent over a squadron of City Watchmen to arrest the Gilmoran gentlemen.

  It seems they were conspiring to kidnap – or rescue, depending upon your perspective, Lady Maithieran from her captivity. They confessed almost at once, in the presence of a lawbrother and under the influence of a truthtell spell.

  They were vassals of Count Anvaram, and they were tasked to both spy upon the Magelaw in preparation for a future campaign, as well as to find and secure the sequestered bride by any means within their power. Thankfully, the three had been spooked by the casual magics replete in Vanador and were genuinely inept at espionage.

  But now I had Sir Holwyn, Sir Lenameth and Sire Grenard to contend with and render justice upon.

  **`*

  The facts of the case were established before I ever saw the gentlemen: under direction of Count Anvaram’s Master of Horse, Sire Molanar, by way of a shadowy intermediary known as Sir Holcot, the three loyal knights had been tasked to infiltrate the Magelaw, determine the location of Lady Maithieran, rescue her, if possible, and along the way take notes on our defenses that might be of help in a future military invasion.

  As spies go, the trio was as inept as they were eager to conduct such a daring mission in loyal service to their liege. All three were scions of proud – if minor – noble houses of Gilmora, who also happened to lie firmly in the pro-Castali political camp. They saw themselves as agents of good struggling against the conceits and conspiracies of an evil wizard, and one who held their very stations in open disdain.

  But they were woefully out of their element the moment their journey took them beyond Vorone.

  Wilderlords were strange enough to the knights. Magelords and the marvels they commanded were entirely novel. Seeing a few old magelights pop up in Barrowbell during a tournament is one thing; witnessing the wonders of Castle Megelin from a distance, or seeing the vast complex of Spellgate, or encountering the many magical curiosities of Vanador had seen the simple knights quite out of their element. Nor had they given proper care to concealing their speech; they spoke openly of their mission in public, even when they were being overheard, without recourse to code words or even simple discretion.

  I credited that mistake more to their cultural arrogance than to stupidity. The Gilmorans legitimately did not consider the Wilderfolk and the Magelords intelligent enough to see beyond their simple disguises. The former were simple bumpkins, in the eyes of Gilmoran society, and the latter were too scheming and mad for power to notice. Nor did they appear to have been instructed in the most basic arts of espionage, or even simple discretion, in the slightest degree. They had been chosen, I realized, on the basis of their youth, their pedigrees and their expendability.

  They ranged from terrified to glum, as I regarded them in the City Watch room. Lawbrother Bryte accompanied me, upon
my invitation, and Gareth insisted on being there in his capacity as Pentandra’s steward. But I could tell the lad took the presence of spies in his land personally.

  “What do you know of Count Anvaram’s plans to invade the Magelaw?” Gareth demanded of the men, unartfully.

  “We will never betray our liege, mageling!” spat the oldest of the three, Sire Grenard.

  “You already have, gentlemen,” I interrupted, before Gareth could tarnish the interrogation. “Your very presence betrays his intentions. By your confessions, you are engaged in military espionage on behalf of a hostile power. The Magelaw sees that as a capital offense,” I observed, coolly. “With a word, I can see you three hung within the hour for what you have admitted.”

  “You heard lies, lies compelled by magic!” insisted Holwyn, nervously. He was terribly uncomfortable with his hands bound behind his back.

  “The truthtell spells were administered by a sworn officer of the court with no experience of the matter, until he was summoned,” Gareth informed him. “In the presence of a lawbrother. All perfectly legal. And utterly trustworthy.”

  “But that would only be of issue if this was a civil manner,” I added. “Your employment by Count Anvaram is a hostile act against my realm, which is a military matter. I have complete discretion under the law, in this instance. But the truth will suffice: your lord conspires to make war upon me,” I pronounced.

  “He seeks to rescue a maiden cruelly held against her will!” Lenameth objected, anxiously.

  “And punish the dishonor which you have given to Gilmoran chivalry!” added Holwyn.

  “Which is an act of war,” I agreed, patiently. “Well, I did invite him to try to find Vanador. I suppose this is what passes as his first try. Do I need to put you three back under a truthtell spell, or can I rely on your candor?” I asked, sharply. “Do be sincere; your necks depend upon it.”

  “We’ll tell you what we know,” admitted Lenameth, sulkily.