Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “Nice to know he’s worth his wages,” I grunted, as I watched her pace. She was preoccupied by something, which is not something you expect in a goddess.

  “The machine will be helpful, too,” she continued, “now that it is mobile. But be cautious of it, Minalan. Your ancestors built them, and they were instrumental in settling here, but they were also dangerous. Controlling. At some point, your ancestors . . . did away with them, for the most part,” she explained. “Even though they made their society work. Think about that, Minalan. There had to be a good reason to get rid of something that useful.”

  “They did away with them?” I asked, surprised.

  “Somehow, yes,” she agreed. “That was before my time, of course, but I’ve heard rumors. That’s one of those things Heeth should look into. Why did the colony disconnect their thinking engines? This machine of yours may be harmless, and will decidedly be useful, but it isn’t to be trusted,” she warned.

  I sighed and took a few moments to think. Forseti had been increasingly useful, since he was able to escape his cave, and had spent countless hours discussing and lecturing me and my staff on all manner of subjects, from metallurgy to music. There was a thick volume of notes concerning our conversations, now, in the hands of Ruderal, Gareth, Lilastien, Heeth and myself, as well as the few other guests I’d permitted to interrogate the ancient machine. Our vision of what our ancestors had created was far more complete, now.

  But this was the first I’d heard about them getting rid of their thinking machines. I had always assumed that they had fallen into disrepair after the sinking of Perwyn, but Briga hinted at a more purposeful removal from human society. Why, indeed, would they do that to their greatest achievement?

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, nodding. “I’ll be taking Forseti with me to Anghysbel. I’d say to watch my back, but he doesn’t quite come up to my knee. He says that there’s an ancient installation there that may answer some of our questions,” I informed her. That raised some bright-red eyebrows.

  “Really?” she asked, surprised. “He believes it is intact?”

  “The cave we found his little chariot in was more or less intact,” I argued. “He says this installation was well-fortified, and he believes it might have survived. It’s worth investigating, while we’re there.”

  “Agreed,” she sighed, producing little wisps of white smoke out of her nostrils when she did so. “As much as I mistrust such things, it appears as if we have no choice, if we are to learn the truth.”

  “Or what is left of it. I wonder if our ancestors discovered that the world was going to end in three thousand years? I can’t imagine them wanting to stay here, if that was the case.”

  “They probably thought they could fix it,” Briga said, shaking her head. “That has ever been your race’s flaw. The hubris to think that you can challenge the gods and the nature of the universe.”

  “We’re here, aren’t we? We managed to get ourselves from our homeworld to Callidore. Without magic,” I added. “That has to be worth something.”

  “I don’t think the universe really cares,” Briga said, with a shrug. “At most, it cares just the tiniest bit enough to send us gods to watch over you, since you destroyed your civilization. Maybe.”

  “Well, that’s not theologically reassuring at all!” I scowled.

  “For me, either,” she admitted. “Your folk have ascribed great and complex relationships among the gods, as though we were organized and institutionalized. The truth is far scarier: that we barely know what we’re doing, and barely know each other. We are all just expressions of the divine energy, made manifest through the collective will and outspoken needs of the human subconscious. Our power might be great, individually, but it does not grant knowledge beyond our ken. Nor understanding. I’m hoping that our newfound persistence will allow us to fix some of that.”

  “Anything that promotes the stability of the divine I can support,” I chuckled. “But it is disappointing that you don’t know all the answers to life’s largest questions.”

  “In truth, we don’t even know all the questions,” she agreed. “We can still be surprised. Like Bova’s response to your enemies. I had no idea that she could do that.”

  “I don’t think she did, either, to be honest. Or perhaps she did. But she promised that she could help. She fulfilled that promise. I can respect that. As did you, and the other persistent gods, each in their way. I’ll take that help regardless of whether or not you know all the answers. And if I find a little psychological comfort in that during these stressful times, all the better.”

  “I’m glad you think so, Minalan,” Briga agreed, as she disappeared into a cloud of smoke that suddenly appeared around her feet and then rose to over her head. “You’re going to need it sooner than you think.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The Arcanist Speaks

  “When wise men speak, open your ears.”

  Wilderlands Folk Saying

  From the Collections of Jannik the Rysh

  The Thaumaturgic College was still so new that the faint musk of wattle-and-daub and whitewash had not yet left the structure when you entered the hall, nor had the clay tiles on the floor yet become worn or scuffed with use. Though the remainder of the building had yet to be constructed, the main hall and a few bays were complete enough for some basic workshops and an archive to be of use. The largest chamber in the building was not for books and scrolls but for people: the Lecture Hall, a broad, largely empty room filled only with chairs, all facing forward, like a theater. At the head of the hall stood one fairly imposing wooden lectern, behind which Heeth the Arcanist stood, telling us how doomed we all were.

  He did so in cheerful tones and with a certain glee I felt he enjoyed just for knowing something that few others did, even if it was the end of the world. Indeed, he appeared a bit giddy as he carefully told us just how screwed we were, due to the tangled skein of troubles we’d inherited from our ancestors.

  I had invited a small but select group to attend the event. Most were magi, of course, men and women who had worked for me and whom I trusted to keep this lecture to themselves.

  Others I included despite their lack of rajira because I felt their input would be helpful, or I thought they should be informed of the wider situation beyond feudal politics and genocidal goblins. Those included Jannik the Rysh, certain political figures and select members of the clergy who might add something beneficial to the discussion. I considered all of them trustworthy. And none of them were Alka Alon or Tera Alon. This was a discussion of humanity’s future, and I could not really trust even my closest friends among the Alon about this.

  Along the back wall stood more than a dozen of attendants who were considered important enough or sufficiently well-connected to merit attendance. That included several apprentices, including Ruderal and Alurra, Pentandra’s blind apprentice, as well as the two human Sky Captains.

  Heeth delivered the address with flair and style, despite the hopeless nature of the situation. His red hair was freshly barbered, and his beard was cut close. He frequently paced and threw his arms around for emphasis. For a few hours during his presentation I felt like I was back at Inarion Academy, learning about Imperial History or Thaumaturgy or the like.

  But what Heeth the Arcanist had to say was troubling.

  “We have here, my friends and colleagues, a tangled nest of competing matters, all of which are related to the other, and all of which must be solved,” he insisted, as he gripped the podium possessively. “There are dangers and doom in each of them, if we are not careful. In fact, even if we are careful, we will skirt the frontiers of destruction again and again, if we pursue our salvation.

  “I hesitate to bring order to this tangle, in that speaking to any of these matters first might convince you that they are the most important. In truth, all are important to us, else we would not be concerned. Therefore, take my listing as a point of discussion, not a schedule of priorities.”

&
nbsp; He began pacing slowly across the small dais as he recounted each factor and summarized it for those who were perhaps uninformed.

  “I bring to you first the Matter of Castalshar,” he said, as he cast a large magemap above his head, displaying the entire kingdom. “Our kingdom has managed stability in its short life, which is nothing short of miraculous. Yet though the challenges of political consolidation and rebellion have largely been met, there are dangers lurking on the horizon that will continue to threaten the state: namely, the poor performance of Prince Tavard, the defection of Princess Rardine to Alshar, the muddy succession in Remere, the continued skirmishing with Merwyn over Wenshar, the loss of the Farisian peninsula to a pirate regime, and, most importantly to us, the continued incursions by the forces of darkness that want to kill us all and eat us,” he concluded.

  “Each of these factors may weaken the institutions and economy of the kingdom as a whole,” he continued. “The recent restructuring of tribute payments through the counts instead of the duchies has helped, in my opinion,” he said, thoughtfully. “But that is but one step toward salvation. Thankfully, the one portion that is most dangerous to the Magelaw, the aforesaid forces of darkness, are currently under control. That will – hopefully – give us time to contend with these other factors.

  “I hesitate to use the word ‘inevitable’,” he continued, briefly consulting his notes, “but we are going to end up at war with Merwyn. The Duke of Merwyn sees Rard’s establishment of Castalshar as a direct threat to his regime and a challenge to Merwyni sea power. The skirmishing over Wenshar recently indicates that he is already probing us. The institutionalization of the Knights of Nablus out of the corpse of the Royal Censorate demonstrates that he understands the nature of Castalshar’s military advantages. But his lack of magical resources – namely irionite – keep his magi controllable in a way that we, alas, are not,” he said, to a chorus of snickers.

  “The Matter of Castalshar will involve resolving the Wenshari and Merwyni situations, somehow; it will also require that Farise be dealt with and brought under the crown,” he proposed. “But it will also have to address the . . . unfortunate succession possibilities. While I feel that the magelands of the Magelaw, Sevendor, Robinwing, Moros, Greenflower and others are largely secure, for the moment, the possibility of challenge from a future regime is strong. Encouraging greater ties amongst the magi will, therefore, remain important. Thankfully, we have enjoyed strong and wise leadership,” he said, glancing up at me and Pentandra, who were sitting in the first row.

  “We come now to the Matter of the Enshadowed, which is inclusive of the Umbra, Olum Seheri, Korbal the Necromancer, Sheruel the Scepter, and Ashkarl, the Goblin King,” he continued. “And while this matter seems dire, recent events have given us hope in our struggle against it.

  “Korbal sits in anticipation of his own doom, thanks to the Magolith,” he continued, like a monk delivering a sermon. “Sheruel has been neutralized, thanks to Korbal’s betrayal. The Nemovorti compete for their master’s favor, and while their resources and magic are strong, they suffer from some debilitating penalties that may prove decisive. Ashakarl’s regime in the northwest, while robust, is not strong enough to provide a challenge to the Magelaw. Indeed, it is a reaction to the triumph of the magi in this struggle. The evolution of a second pole of power amongst our enemies cannot be underestimated,” he emphasized.

  “Division between the Goblin Kingdom and the Umbra may also prove decisive. The tribal gurvani tire of war and seeing their children transformed into maragorku. Despite their historical hatreds, they chafe at being the instruments of oppression over humanity. There are rumors of native prophecies that threaten the rule of the Nemovorti, for instance. And there is a vein of defiant resistance to the rulership of any Alka Alon that fuels the tribal gurvani willingness to rebel against Korbal’s regime.

  “Korbal’s reserves are spent,” he insisted. “His ability to project force is now limited to magic, deception and treachery. Without the power of the Magolith, he is condemned to a hellish existence in a rotting body. Minalan reports that he must now languish in a state of torpor to extend his life, and that the use of the molopor has weakened his constitution. The great power of Sheruel and the molopor cannot sustain him. Until he can raise another generation of gurvani, even maragorku, he will not have sufficient soldiery to contest our rule, here in the Wilderlaw.”

  Heeth paused just long enough to sip some water from a goblet on the lectern before he continued.

  “Next is the Matter of the Alka Alon,” he said, as the magemap above him changed. The landforms were the same, but the designations and legend had changed. “That is, the proper Alka Alon authorities, who have ultimate rulership over lands we think are our own. No,” he insisted, as a chorus of murmurs erupted from the crowd, “the Alka Alon council has oversight of what they call the ‘humani colony,’ in terms of the world of politics. We are their pets, their livestock, their hobby. Humanity was forced upon the locals, and they must contend with us. Indeed, they are held responsible for our behavior,” he grinned.

  “Some may see the Alka Alon as saviors,” he said, as he glanced up at the magemap. “In truth, they are caretakers, if not wardens. Their job in regard to our people is to ensure that we don’t do anything that would embarrass the Alka Alon council . . . and to use us to counter the Enshadowed. We are therefore useful to them, particularly with the establishment of the Beryen Council. We do their dirty work,” he said, with a sneer, “while they sing songs and harvest magical nuts. We buy them time while they build their means of escape from this world. For,” he continued, as the assembled muttered about the revelation, “as we struggle for simple survival, the Alka Alon play a deep game.

  “Their devotion to this world, despite their protests, is limited,” he said, enunciating the word. “Even amongst our closest allies, the Tera Alon faction, their support for us is woefully pragmatic: we are the sword they use to parry Korbal’s blows. While they prepare to abandon Callidore to its unseemly fate.”

  There was a lot more murmuring, now. Few had understood the nature of the Alka Alon alliance – perhaps me, Pentandra, and a few others – but as Heeth continued to inform them, a growing unease spread throughout the crowd. After all, the Alka Alon were supposed to be mystical giants in the realm of magic. Not hucksters trying to convince a bunch of ignorant rubes to die in battle on their behalf while they prepared to abandon the world.

  “The Alka Alon,” he continued, “knew that the world was doomed before they came here. The sagas confirm it. Under casual questioning from myself and others, we’ve been able to establish a pattern of deception and manipulation by our erstwhile allies that goes back centuries – likely to the original colonization. Yet they were willing to accept our ‘help’ and establish our colony despite knowing that it would ultimately be futile.

  “The proof of this is subtle, but undeniable,” he said, consulting his notes. “In no less than seven of the nineteen Alka Alon epics translated in the early years of the colony, references made to ‘the departure’ indicate that the Alka Alon were well aware of the finite nature of Callidore. While their affection for the world is evident, so is their intent to flee before the coming doom.

  “After intense consultation with some of our own resources, it becomes clear that we were a useful and novel foil for our allies. They do not expect us to be able to solve the problem of our doom, and they are perfectly content to use us to purchase time and resources to ready their own escape.

  “Nor did they readily share with us the nature of the doom. Indeed, every discussion of that sort of thing is cloaked in layer after annoying layer of obfuscation and deception. They depend upon our ephemeral lifespans to reduce our race to willing, if ignorant, servants, not partners. The vaunted Emissaries they authorized are designed to placate us, to mollify our questions and give us the illusion of assistance, even as the Alka Alon conspire to abandon our world in its time of greatest need. Even the assistance of
the Tera Alon, as dedicated as they are to supporting humanity, is fraught with deception, if you are subtle enough to see it.

  “While this might be insulting,” Heeth continued, pursing his lips, “it also provides us opportunities for answers. For the Alka Alon are not ready to depart. They are just beginning their preparations. And I believe, based on some quiet investigation and some shrewd guesswork, that they are troubled that one of their planned means of escaping Callidore, the molopor of Boval Castle, is currently controlled by one of their most violent and psychopathic dissidents.”

  That produced a gasp in the hall, as we realized some of the motivations behind the alliance were self-serving. What if the reason that the Tera Alon were helping us was to liberate their escape route from Korbal? It also explained why Korbal was so anxious to secure the molopor, through his gurvani surrogates: by controlling it, he was forcing the Alka Alon to contend with his brutal ideology. It was leverage, we all realized, against the greater Alka Alon society.

  Which meant that defeating Korbal, for all the good it did for us, would also allow the Alka Alon to leave. And leave humanity behind to endure the horrors of a dying world.

  Conversely, if they ended up negotiating with Korbal and the Enshadowed for access to the molopor, they could flee and leave him in charge for a few millennia. That, too, was a horrific thought.

  Heeth waited for the murmuring to die down, and then he continued.

  “There is some indication that the Alka Alon have . . . misplaced some of their means to escape this world,” he said, diplomatically. “We know that the greater part of their ancient mastery of magic was put away, after they abused it in their wars against each other. We also know that there is a growing sense of alarm over them recovering it. I would propose that, if they do recover it, that their use for humanity will decline. As will their commitment to this alliance.”