Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “You are as informed as you need to be!” Micrethiel insisted. “Do not presume to have an opinion on matters that are above your ken!”

  “You are not an adequate judge of what is beyond my ken!” Pentandra shot back, icily. Perhaps someday the Alka Alon would learn not to challenge her. I learned that the hard way when I was seventeen.

  The council devolved quickly, after that, as each member shouted their positions and their criticisms of the others. It was delightfully human, compared to the way most Alkan councils were run. But it wasn’t particularly helpful.

  “My friends!” I shouted. “My friends! Attend me, for a moment!” I was loud enough and forceful enough to cause a pause in the acrimony. To emphasize my point, I sent the Magolith above the center of the table and it began to pulsate alarmingly. “My friends, we need to be unified, not divided. Korbal is laughing at our rancor. Pray attend,” I insisted, “and I will tell you of my plans, even if you continue to conceal yours.

  “I am preparing to embark on an expedition to the north, to the land of Anghysbel,” I said, after the council stopped their arguments. “Why? Because I seek answers, answers that this council or the Alka Alon council cannot provide. Do not think that your long lives provide such answers; wisdom is wisdom, regardless of longevity. I will go north and inspect the jevolar. I will search for the scion of the aronin. And I will return with the knowledge that we require,” I insisted, without a shred of evidence. Sometimes a wizard’s best bet is to act with supreme and unremitting confidence.

  “And what answers will suffice?” Letharan scoffed. “Really, Minalan, we’ve been chewing on this problem for five thousand years before your people emerged from the Void. Do you really think that you mortals can provide what the immortals have not?”

  “Snowstone, my lord,” I answered. “Why did you not produce it centuries ago?”

  Letharan looked annoyed. “We did not know it was even possible, until it was,” he admitted. I could tell he knew he was facing a losing argument, logically speaking. But he persisted. “Your race’s unusual and unexpected abilities are remarkable, but unpredictable. Until you can repeat the spell . . .”

  “Repeat it?” I asked. “I plan to make snowstone in great heaping quantities! Why? Because the Sea Folk covet it,” I explained. “And if the Alka Alon will not be trustworthy allies, I will bribe those who will be. That is incentive enough for me to succeed. Perhaps the Alka Alon believe that they know all there is to know in this universe, but I count myself among the ambitiously ignorant. I will not rest until this doom is abated. Can you say the same?” I challenged.

  “Your temerity is unseemly, wizard,” Micrethiel said, frowning. “You consider yourselves our equal, when that is foolishness made manifest. I have lived for more than thirty centuries,” the old Alkan declared. “I may have a few more in me. But I will never live long enough to see a human whose wisdom equals my own!”

  “I accept that wager,” I said, sharply. “For your kind has always underestimated mine . . . and when you didn’t, you sought to undermine our efforts by denying us our own civilization.

  “Very well. I seek to re-create the snowstone spell and purchase the alliance of the Vundel,” I declared. “Pentandra seeks to form an expedition to investigate the jevolar of the Shattered Sea. The Tera Alon volunteer to fight and to seek answers that the Alka Alon eschew. I have a hundred warmagi ready to depart to the ends of the world, at my command, to investigate any possibility of averting the cataclysm. What, my lords, are you doing, besides preparing contingencies that presuppose defeat?”

  “I find the humani response to this crisis more robust than that of the Alka Alon,” Gurkarl said, simply. “They are willing to fight for us all, at least.”

  “It causes one to wonder about the sincerity of our patrons,” agreed Azhguri. “Indeed, I wonder about the position in which our diverse races have been put. The Karshak and the Dradrien have been deprived of our proper leadership for nearly four hundred years. What would the mighty say to the rightful lords of the Karshak?” he pondered.

  “They were exiled for good reason, as your own people decreed,” Haruthel pointed out. “Their response to the crisis of the Beldurazekko was telling. Have your people not prospered, without them?” he asked.

  “Perhaps,” Azhguri said. “Yet we cannot truly say that we have responded to this crisis with our whole selves when one seventh of our folk languishes in exile. I move that a delegation of Karshak and Dradrien accompany Count Minalan to the wastelands to determine if the Kilnusk Alon have redeemed themselves in exile. The crimes of releasing the Beldurazekko are past,” he said, shaking his great bearded head. “My people may prosper, but they also languish without the oversight of the Kilnusk Alon.”

  “You would place yourselves under a clan that betrayed you?” scoffed Micrethiel.

  “We would consider and evaluate the status of a clan who has endured exile in recompense for that crime,” Azhguri said with a heavy sigh. “We have consulted the elders of our clans. We are in agreement.” It sounded like a tacit admission of defeat, but it apparently had some traction amongst the Alka Alon. They conferred for a few moments alone, but then returned to the council.

  “We agree, the time has come to evaluate the redemption of the Kilnusk,” agreed Haruthel. “Subject to the approval of the Alka Alon council, of course. But if representatives of the two factions are willing to travel and make that determination, we would consider a partial restoration of the Kilnusk clan.”

  “And what of my people?” asked Gurkarl, pointedly. “We did not release some ancient evil. We were tricked and betrayed into creating Sheruel by the Enshadowed . . . who led my folk into a hopeless war against the humani. Are we so petty in the minds of the Alka Alon that we are worthy of dismissal?” he asked, eloquently.

  The unexpected challenge perplexed the Alka Alon. “Your folk will enjoy their proper place, eventually,” pledged Micrethiel. “Perhaps when your rebellious streak is contained, and your folk appreciate their position in the world. Yet —”

  “Wait just a moment!” I interrupted, earning a glare from the old Alkan. “Gurkarl’s people have been badly misused by the Alka Alon,” I pointed out.

  “By the Enshadowed, not the Alka Alon,” Haruthel objected.

  “Are not the Enshadowed a faction of the Alka Alon?” I challenged. “They might not be your brightest stars, but they are yours, nonetheless. And they are responsible for much hurt against my people and Gurkarl’s. Will you not take responsibility for their heinous actions? They are your folk, not ours,” I reminded them.

  “The Enshadowed are an aberration in Alkan society,” objected Letharan. “We despise them more than you do for their adherence to archaic principle and mindless ideology. They are reprehensible,” he declared.

  “And yet they are essentially and unequivocally an Alka Alon problem,” Onranion said, speaking for the first time, after clearing his throat. “My lords, pretending that the Enshadowed are an aberration from our society is foolish. We own them,” he declared. “They are the worst of us, perhaps, but they are also the epitome of Alka Alon society. Some of the brightest and most talented sought the endorsement of that faction, a generation ago. Deny it if you wish, but some of us recognize the truth and are unimpressed by your rejection of a faction that was, once, quite popular. Do not let your shame color your perspective,” he urged.

  Letharan scoffed. “You think we would consider the musings of a reprobate spellsinger, in these counsels?”

  “If not he, then perhaps the musings of one you name a rebel,” Lilastien said, sharply. “Onranion gives his loyalty to the humani out of a whim, perhaps. I was tasked with studying the newcomers as quickly as they fell out of the sky. Even then the Enshadowed threatened the realm, if not all of Callidore, with their madness. Yet you were more concerned for the baseless threat that the humani posed than the corruption that stained our own councils.”

  “And how did you repay the council for the opport
unity they afforded you?” Micrethiel asked, annoyed. “You sided with the humani against your own kind!”

  “Did I?” challenged Lilastien. “Or did I recognize that the humans provided a novel solution to questions we long thought answered? Do not deny that their sciences were perplexing to you,” she insisted. “And in your confusion, you treated them poorly. Just as you treated the other Alon poorly. You thought you understood the nature of magic, until the humani gods stood your understanding on its head. Your arrogance in your longevity and feelings of superiority over the ephemerals is disgusting,” she said, condemningly. “How much suffering has accrued as a result?”

  “Such equations are not your concern, anymore, Elre,” said Letharan, with a fresh sneer.

  “How are they not?” Lilastien scoffed. “You know our capabilities perhaps as much as I,” she reasoned. “Yet you condemn the gurvani to the short, brutish life we designed for them, when they could be better. You still rely upon fawning gurvani to empty your garbage and toil in your works, when they have the potential to be as great as any Alon. You treat the Tal Alon as mere animals to provide you with sustenance. And you snub the genius of the Karshak and the Dradrien as inferior to your vaunted perspective. All while you deprive them of the leadership that would see all seven clans thrive. Where is your honor, my lords?” she asked, plaintively.

  “It sits second to wisdom, Elre,” sneered Micrethiel. “Do not think for a moment that this display of righteousness obscures your own crimes. You betrayed the Alka Alon in favor of a species—”

  “A species you tasked me to study,” finished Lilastien, hotly. “A species who arrived from the Void, wide-eyed and innocent and was immediately subjected to your criticism and control. Only you couldn’t bear to reveal yourselves to their criticism, so you undermined their very civilization!”

  “That’s a dramatic overstatement of what happened,” Haruthel objected.

  “Is it?” Lilastien asked, haughtily. “I know the council acted to undercut the prosperity of the gurvani by denying them their rightful advancement, and that was centuries before the humani appeared. I know that they have acted to retard the evolution of the Tal Alon to keep them subject to your whim. I know that they have sought to keep the Karshak and the Dradrien from uniting with the Kilnusk Alon, lest they regain their former power. And what you have allowed to happen to the Hulka Alon is criminal,” she pronounced, contempt dripping from her mouth like venom. “I am ashamed to be associated with such a council!” she said, sneering.

  “We really do not require your approval, Elre,” said Micrethiel, icily. “The council may have made errors in the past, but we have the best interests of all the peoples of this land in mind. It is our responsibility to the lesser races to help keep them regulated,” she said, glaring at Lilastien.

  “‘Lessor races?” Pentandra replied, appalled. “Do you count worth in years lived, my lady, or in the quality of those years? And what gives you the right to ‘regulate’ humanity?” she demanded.

  “It is not a matter of longevity,” Haruthel said, patiently, shaking his head. “It is a matter of sophistication. Nor do we seek to control humanity, merely guide it through this dangerous time.”

  “As you guided my folk?” Gurkarl asked, pointedly. “Once we lived as long as the Tal Alon. Now we expire sooner than the humani. If our worth is measured in our years – or our sophistication – then you have guided us into damnation!” he condemned. “King Ashakarl may have his faults, but he rejects the ‘guidance’ of the Alka Alon in our people’s affairs. The gurvani resentment over our past treatment led to rebellion, once,” he reminded them. “The Enshadowed used us damnably, and then the Alka Alon council moved to punish us for their crimes, not our own.

  “Sheruel’s priesthood would not have found so many willing warriors had we not understood the nature of our relationship with the Alka Alon. Our lack of sophistication may gall you, and you may disdain a culture that has rejected your ‘guidance,’ but Ashakarl’s kingdom is our own,” he emphasized, pounding his fist on the table. “As crude and rough as it might be, we will see what the gurvani may build without your vaunted guidance. Yours or the Enshadowed.”

  “In a century, it won’t even be a memory,” sneered Letharan. “From what I understand, Ashakarl merely apes the institutions of humanity, trying to make his people mockeries of theirs.”

  “Mockeries?” Gurkarl scoffed. “We learn the tricks of civilization that we were denied by the Alka Alon. As much enmity for the humani as we hold, they have taught us how mere ‘ephemerals’ can build beyond the strength of a single generation. If we are left unmolested,” he added.

  “And I move that we include a delegation with Count Minalan’s expedition to evaluate the status of the Kilnusk Alon,” Azhguri declared. “I recommend myself and . . . Master Suhi, of the Alon Dradrien. He has sufficient rank among his clan to be trusted, and he is already proximate. We shall report back on their disposition,” he said, acting as if the proposal was already agreed-upon.

  “Enough of this banter,” Haruthel said, shaking his little head. “We have a task, here. Let us accomplish it. Count Minalan, you are leading the expedition to the jevolar in the north. Baroness Pentandra, you are leading the expedition to the jevolar at the Shattered Islands. The Kilnusk Alon will be evaluated by a delegation of Dradrien and Karshak. Are there other matters to discuss?”

  “I believe the time has come to begin scouting the Enshadowed,” Letharan said, clearly disturbed at the argumentative nature of the meeting. “Now that the militant strength of Korbal has been broken, we must ferret out the strongholds of the Enshadowed and prepare to assault them. I move that this council send the Tera Alon to scout the enemy’s territory to learn these things. If they wish to prance about in those ungainly forms, then they can use them to our advantage.”

  “I see no harm in merely evaluating,” admitted Haruthel. “But the primary mission is to find Ameris. And convince her to open her vault. If we fail in that, then we are all undone.”

  “So that’s where your secret escape plans are hidden?” Pentandra asked, pointedly.

  “Many ancient things of great power were stored there,” Haruthel admitted. “Some dating to our arrival on Callidore. In fact, my lady, we have no comprehensive idea of just what lies in the aronin’s vault. It was first sealed beyond the memory of even our oldest, and none but the aronin’s line know what lies within.”

  “Which is why the Enshadowed seek it, as well,” I pointed out. “Should they recover it first, what is our recourse?”

  “They must not!” Letharan insisted. “That would be a disaster not for just your people and mine, but for all the world. If they seek to challenge the power of the Vundel, we will all pay dearly for it.”

  “We are paying dearly now,” I said, evenly. “But I move that we adjourn, and reconvene this autumn, presumably after I have returned from the north. I’m certain I will have much to report.”

  “Agreed,” Haruthel said, tiredly, as he looked around the room. “If there are no objections . . . I believe I need refreshment,” he said, and stomped off. Letharan and Micrethiel followed, the latter glaring back at the rest of us over her shoulder.

  “Well, that went well,” Pentandra frowned.

  “Actually, it did,” Lilastien agreed, as we stood and began to mingle. “We got nearly everything we wanted to get. And managed to hold them to account on the subject of the end of the world. It’s a start,” she said, optimistically.

  “It is a start,” Azhguri agreed, “but a start toward what end? The Alka council still holds the power and makes the decisions. I feel this Beryen Council is meant to merely placate us while the immortals plot to deeper ends.”

  “Perhaps,” Pentandra considered, “but that does not mean we do not also plot to deeper ends. We might not be as sophisticated as the Alka Alon, but we are creative, intelligent and sneaky.”

  “And underestimated,” I reminded them. “By the Alka council and by the Ens
hadowed. Neither feel we have the capacity to be more than small players in whatever game they are playing. Both will be in for a nasty surprise, I foresee.”

  “You realize you managed to piss of both your prince and your allies, all in the same week?” Pentandra asked, as we made our way outside.

  I chuckled. “It’s what wizards do.”

  Chapter Forty

  The Fair Vale of Cartrefygan

  “Many roads lead to places far away, but they lead right home again.

  And every road trod by every bard leads to Fair Cartrefygan.”

  The Lay of Cartrefygan

  From the Collections of Jannik the Bard

  “Master,” Ruderal said, breathlessly, after bounding up the stairs to my workshop, “I bear a message from Atopol. He says all stands in readiness, as you requested.”

  “Thank you, Ruderal,” I said, smiling. “That young man has been a boon, this season. I do hope I haven’t inconvenienced him overmuch. I wish I knew how to repay him for the service he’s done for me . . . including protecting and tutoring you,” I added, knowingly.

  Ruderal shrugged. “It was fun – he said so,” Rudy defended. “And he doesn’t need money. That big ugly gold dog wasn’t the only thing that was stolen from the goldsmith. He didn’t even think it was much of a challenge.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I chuckled. The young shadow thief had, indeed, proved a valuable ally, but it was his influence with Ruderal that I appreciated the most. During their brief few weeks in Nion, Vorone and on the road in between, Atopol had taught Ruderal many unusual and helpful things. The boy now spoke with more confidence and had lost some of his innocence, I could tell. That was a good thing, for a wizard. And having one of his countrymen teaching and protecting him from danger during that mission had been a bonus. I often thought Rudy was homesick, being surrounded by strange folk. He bore it well, but I could tell it bothered him, sometimes.