Hannah sat beside her gnomish friend. “Greetings, friend Rochelle,” she offered, “How farest ye? “Not good. I’m a druid without magic and while I acknowledge that my magical pursuits have led me into trouble in the past, this time I really can't understand what I did wrong.” She went on to tell Hannah her story, but when she had finished, the Knight seemed to have little to offer.
“I am afraid, my friend, that thy troubles art this time beyond my ability to counsel thee. Magic is, methinks, a subject of which I am poorly qualified to speak.”
“But that's just it,” Rochelle persisted. “I'm not sure this has anything much to do with magic...it's more politics that anything else.”
“Political intrigue is mayhap the one subject in this world about which I understand less than magic.”
“Then maybe you need to talk to someone who's an expert in both,” came a slightly quavering male voice behind them. They turned to see the daft old mage, Artisho, trailed by several Knights who seemed to be trying to get him to leave without appearing dishonourable and disrespectful in their treatment of an elder. The way Artisho paid them such little attention, beyond the tiniest frown of irritation, made the Knights look like nothing more than flies buzzing around the old man's head. A burly Knight Commander approached the scene and confronted Artisho.
“I am sorry, Old One, but thou art not allowed in here.”
For a moment, the old mage seemed to take on a new bearing. All hint of mist and fog was gone from his eyes, his walk lost its hesitancy and perhaps he stood a little taller.
“Not allowed?” he said, indignantly. “Don’t be absurd, young man. I'm allowed everywhere!” Suddenly the moment was gone and Artisho was once again just a rather scatter-brained old man. Indeed, Rochelle was not sure if she hadn't imagined the change in the first place.
“Artisho, sir,” Hannah ventured, reaching out to offer a handshake or perhaps a guiding hand to the exit. “Methinks that the noble commander is just a little confused...” “Never mind,” Artisho replied, patting her hand like an affectionate grandfather, “I'm sure I'll have him completely bewildered by the time I'm finished. Now,” Artisho continued, using his staff to tap the Knight Commander on the head as if knocking on a door. He spoke in a loud, deliberate tone one might use when speaking to someone who is a little deaf or a little stupid.
“Find Me A Seat, Will You? There's A Good Chap!”
The commander gestured toward a place next to Rochelle, and was startled to discover he was suddenly holding Artisho's hat and staff.
The old man rolled his eyes. “Find somewhere safe for those, would you?” the mage asked. “Dear Patrelaux, do I have to tell you everything?”
“Ah, er, yes sir, I mean, no sir. Please do sit thyself beside our other, er, special guest and, er, enjoy thy stay. I-”
Artisho turned away to cut off any further response that might have been forthcoming and the highranking Knight knew he’d been dismissed, so he left.
“It's those helms, I'm sure of it," Artisho said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Their heads can't stand the pressure and their brains get squished.”
Rochelle gasped, “Why that's my theory, too!”
Artisho's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Your theory? How can it be your theory? I had it first! It's mine! Who said you could claim it?”
“Oh, well, no-one I suppose, I just didn't realise...maybe we could sort of share the theory?”
“Share it? Hmmm, well yes, that sounds fair enough. After all, they do say `a theory shared is a theory doubled`.”
“What a fascinating concept! Who says that?”
“I did, just now, weren't you listening?”
“I-” “Never mind that,” he dismissed patting her hand as he had Hannah’s a moment earlier. “What's this about political intrigue, eh?” Artisho wondered. Then his eyes widened in recognition. “Say, don't I know you two from somewhere?”
“Indeed yes,” Hannah said, dropping her voice low, remembering the much needed secrecy. “Thou didst assist us in a certain quest.”
“But I'm not wearing a vest!” he protested.
“Not vest, Old One -quest. In Marina Fells mine.” “There you go again! You young people are all alike! How can you possibly claim Marina Fells is yours? Do you own it now? Do you have official documents to prove it? Marina Fells mine, indeed. Humph! Besides, Marina Fells is east not west.”
Rochelle decided it was best to change the subject, and told Artisho what had happened at Great Library. “It makes no sense,” she concluded. “That Catalyst makes a bit of noise and I'm surrounded in a heartbeat. I've got Merlana the White Wizardess, at least one Enforcer with a powerful Catalyst by his side, absolutely everybody's looking at me and trying to make it seem like they're not. I get zapped by Nullmagic and then Master Gamaliel shows up. And thank goodness he did! Who knows how much further things would have gone otherwise? Under Enforcer interrogation I don't flatter myself that I would hold out for very long. I would have told them everything and put Eilidh in danger. Oh, she should never have told us! But then how could I help with research if I didn't know what I was looking for?” The druid hung her head.
“And do you?” Artisho prompted. When Rochelle glanced up, just for a split second, she thought she saw clarity in those old eyes, but itwas gone before she could blink. “No, not really. But I do know it has to be magic quite unlike what we know today. The Ancients are said to have been capable of so much that we’ve lost, so it makes sense to search for their magic. `She` must have figured it out somehow, that's the only way...” she glanced around at the array of Knights at the dining tables, “...the only way `the enemy` could do what she's shown she's capable of. But what did I do to make Merlana so...scared? That's what she was reacting with, you know: fear. What threat did I represent?”
“I think you've already answered that.”
Rochelle nodded thoughtfully. “I was asking questions -seeking knowledge, truth.”
“Some people would say that's the most threatening thing a person can do.”
“Merlana is asking the same questions!” Rochelle said abruptly. “And she wants to keep anything she learns to herself.”
“Politics indeed,” Hannah mused. “But why? Did I mishear when Eilidh told of the co- operation between all three factions of magic?” “Oh, I'm sure the three leaders were serious, up to a point. Think of it like this, Hannah: Your leaders have declared a truce with the Dark Knights. There is a spirit of co-operation between you that is real and genuine remember Sir Quentin Marr?”
“Indeed I do, but I do not see-”
“So where are they?” “Excuse me?” “I said: `Where are they?` Looking around, aside from myself and Mr Artisho,” the old man had now fallen asleep and was beginning to snore, “I see nothing but golden armour. No black, only gold. If you are co-operating, why aren't they wandering around freely and joining in the promotion celebrations? Congratulations, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you. Well, Dark Knights hath visited here - escorted, obviously. We must needs maintain our security, protect our own interests.” “And you say you don't know anything about politics!” Rochelle gibed. “Merlana has her own interests: interests of gaining power. Oh, I'm sure she would give it a moral dimension, something about wanting only to bring Light and Goodness to one and all, but it amounts to the same thing: she wants power. The way things are, Merlana can never lead the Council of Magic. Not ever. She's a human among elves. Even Master Gamaliel who is only half-elven, will appear to have aged little more than ten years, by human standards, by the time Merlana has died of old age. Then there's Drizdar. He outranks Merlana so even if, perish the thought, something were to happen to Gamaliel in her lifetime, she still couldn't ascend to power.”
“Is there not some way for her to challenge that?” Hannah asked. “Certainly, but if it came down to a duel between Drizdar and Merlana, I know where I'd put my money. The White Wizardess would no doubt find the contest a fatal mistake. Merlana
’s only hope is to find a way to confront and stop Niltsiar. Then she would be hailed a hero and would be leader of the Council before the cheers faded.”
“Methinks, from what thou hast told me, that Drizdar wouldst not be pleased at such an outcome.” “Actually, he may not be t oo bothered. He's an elf with centuries of time and patience on his side. Suppose Merlana ruled for fifty years and then retired. What's fifty years to an elf? I would have thought he would be rather more irritated about Gamaliel heading the Council, yet he stepped aside for him, which is most uncharacteristic of a dark warlock. I'm sure he has his reasons, though. Perhaps he thinks his role as Supreme War Master is where the true power lies during war time.”
Council rules prohibited the Prime Magus from holding any other top post, so Drizdar could be either Prime Magus or War Master, but not both. “Gamaliel’s lifespan could cause a significant delay in Drizdar’s plans for power, but even if Gamaliel ruled until he retired,” Rochelle continued, “Drizdar would still be in the prime of life for elf when he naturally ascended to Prime Magus. But he must fear Niltsiar. She's his only true threat. She could ruin everything for him - if she let him live. So I wouldn't be surprised if he's got something going on behind the scenes.”
“Thinkest thou we shouldst warn the Prime Magus?” “Come on Hannah, Master Gamaliel's not stupid. If I've just figured out that his Light and Dark counterparts are up to something behind his back, he probably thought of it before they did. He just has to keep an eye on them and be there the moment they find...anything...”
“What is it?” Hannah asked, apparently loud enough to wake a startled, spluttering Artisho from his slumber. “Won't do it! Too risky!” The old man called out, still halfdreaming. “It's your own fault they think you're dead!--Oh dear, where am I?” He wondered, slowly regaining his wits. His sudden movement caused his wizard's hat to fall over his eyes.
“Struck blind by the gods,” he whispered in awe.
“Here, let me help,” Rochelle offered, and helpfully took his hat away.
“No, it's no good, the gods have made their will known.”
“Perhaps if you opened your eyes?”
“Hmmm?” He did as the gnome suggested and found his vision had been restored. “Thank the gods!”
“Actually, it was just me.”
“You healed me?”
“Well, I suppose in a way, I mean, I am a druid, but-”
“A druid? How can that be? You've got no magic!”
“Yes, that's a bit of a sore point, you see-”
“Aha! Then you can't be a druid - a druid wouldn't have a sore point. Oh no, if you were a druid you would be able to heal yourself. You can't fool me, girl!”
“Yes I'm sure that's...hang on, didn't you give your hat to that Knight Commander when you came in?”
“That was my other hat.”
“Oh.”
“So have you figured out the answer yet, girl?” Artisho asked Rochelle.
“The answer to what?”
“To the only question that really matters.”
“Which is?”
“Where?” The old man looked around frantically.
“Excuse me?”
“You said there were witches.” Rochelle had by nowdecided it was easiest to humour the old man. “My mistake - trick of the light. You were saying about a question?”
“Was I? How exciting! What was the question?”
“I was hoping you might know.”
“I know many questions, which one would you like?”
“The only question that really matters?” The Druidess suggested.
“Oh that question. Yes, that is a good one.” He beckoned Rochelle and Hannah close and whispered. “Do you think Merlana’s found anything yet?”
Rochelle leaned back, eyes wide with excitement. “You're right,” she agreed. “That is the only question that really matters.”
“Dost thou have an answer, friend druid?" Hannah asked. "For I must confess it is most assuredly beyond my own cognitive powers.”
“No,” Rochelle answered, emphatically. “That is: No, she hasn't found anything,” she clarified.
“How canst thou be so sure?”
“Because she's looking in the wrong place.”
“How knowest thou this to be so?” “Well, think about it,” she encouraged her friend. “Niltsiar spent a few years as White Secondmage on the Council here in Merlyon. In that capacity, she would have been in a position to systematically remove any library texts that she considered a potential threat. Even more compelling is the thought that with all the great, ambitious archmages in known history, if power like Niltsiar's were documented in the library, somebody would have found it. Now, we know it's possible to learn at least some of her tricks remember Vorden?”
Vorden was the sorcerer who had kidnapped Princess Mystaya of Shakaran. It seemed as if on his way to sealing himself in the Marina Fells mine, he had wiped out an entire village using a combination of sorcerer, wizard and warlock magic. That was impossible; impossible and forbidden. Vorden had been an agent of Niltsiar until he indulged in his own personal vendetta against Prince Garald. That, apparently, was strictly against Niltsiar's rules and it was clear that she did not take kindly to disobedience. Rochelle thought she could understand why - the quest to rescue the princess had brought them their first real clues about Niltsiar and presented the possibility that a mage might learn to wield powers like hers and perhaps, in that way, stop her. Yes, Rochelle could see how personal vendettas by Niltsiar's agents could harm her cause, whatever that might be.
“His new abilities aside," Rochelle continued, "Vorden didn't seem to be exceptionally skilled or especially clever, so if a past Head of Council had learned such powers, the present Head of Council - Master Gamaliel - would know about it.”
“Perhaps there are no books to be found?” Hannah suggested.
“Then how did the Ancients learn?” Rochelle challenged her. “There are books, but no -one has found them because they are looking in the wrong place.” She stood up, spurred into action. “I have to go back there now, tonight! There's no time to waste!”
“But whitherest thou away?”
“Excuse me?” The gnome's understanding of archaic language ended some way short of that question.
“That means, Where are you going?” Artisho translated, helpfully.
“Oh, well, I'm going to the library, of course.”
“But didst thou not just conclude that Mistress Merlana is searching in the wrong place?”
“I meant the wrong place within the library.”
“But how canst thou be sure no third party hath already searched in thy chosen location?”
“Because the place I'm looking is the Tenth Tower.”
“But the Tenth Tower doth not exist.” “Exactly!” Rochelle exclaimed, enthusiastically. “That's how I know nobody has been there - at least not in a very long time. Look, the information I'm looking for is impossible and forbidden, right?”
“So it hath been said, but I doth fail to see-”
“-Where better to hide `impossible and forbidden` than a place that doesn't exist?” The Knight lady decided to end this line of conversation in hopes that her head would stop spinning. In the end, she simply said, “Thou must act as thou thinkest best. As I hath said, I knowest nothing about magic. I shall await thy return here and simply wish thee luck.”
“Thanks.”
With that, Rochelle turned to leave, but Artisho called out, “Wait just a minute, would you? These old bones don't move quite as fast as they used to.”
“You're coming with me?”
“Of course, I told you I'm an expert in both magic and politics.”
Rochelle grinned. Sheliked him. He made a lot of sense...in an odd sort of way. “Then I'd say you're an ideal companion, sir.”
“Good,” he repliedwith a wink, “because I'm about as welcome here as a prostitute in a temple!”
Rochelle quickly decided that t
he image of Artisho as a sex worker was not one she needed running around in her head and she did her best to stifle it. The pair had just reached the doorway, when Rochelle gasped. “Artisho, I just realised: I don't think we should have been discussing all this so openly in front of all these people. I mean, I know they're honourable Knights but still...”
“Oh don't worry, Rochelle. None of them heard a thing.” As she looked around the hall, the gnome at first thought all the Knights were stuck in some kind of paralysis, because none of them were moving or making a sound. On further examination, however, she noticed that the steam rising from the great roasted boar hung solidly in the air like thin strands of ice. Jugs of ale were perpetually pouring frozen wine into cups, and quite comically, a young squire had just tripped over a chair leg, leaving him, along with his previously food-laden board, halfway through the act of sprawling headlong onto the floor. The Knights around him, were caught in the beginnings of now-silent laughter at the boy's expense.
“How-?” Rochelle gasped, though she realised she already knew the answer.
Artisho winked. “A little bit of Temporal magic.” “More than a little!” Rochelle argued. “Nobody knows how to do that level of chronomagic anymore! Not for a couple of hundred years, not since the Tech Wars. Where-- When-- How-” She really didn't know which question to ask first.
“Shush a moment, would you?” Artisho interrupted. “Let me concentrate while I cancel the spell, then if you ask me again outside I'll give you all the answers.” Satisfied, Rochelle watched in silence as the room came slowly back to life. The steam rose from the roased meat, ale was poured out in full, generous measure and the young squire was soon picking himself up off the floor, red-faced at the humiliation of his superiors' taunts.
Consequences (Majaos Book 2) Page 10