And then we broke for a snack. Some sort of miniature pears, cooked in wine, honey, cinnamon, and burniuon. Apparently you were supposed to eat them with your fingers.
“You’ve intrigued me,” I admitted, as I licked my fingers clean – it was that good, and that’s not considered a violation of protocol amongst the casual Remerans. “In my struggle against the Dead God, I would have the might of our ancestors on our side.”
“I said legacies from Perwyn, Master,” he corrected. “Not necessarily might. For within the vast records our Order managed to keep from destruction, while there are certainly spells of great power, there are other legacies less-practical … but no less important.”
“I’m just an ignorant backwoods spellmonger,” I shrugged. “You’re going to have to be a lot less vague than that. Let’s put all of our pieces on the table, shall we? I’ve always wondered – just what is it your Order is supposed to do?”
Orsirio looked around, received a few grudging nods, and then continued. “Among our many responsibilities is one of the most sacred,” admitted Orsirio, twirling his mustache. “It is the matter of the Forsaken.” He paused, apparently waiting for lighting or a crash of thunder or a gasp of breath to complete the drama of the revelation. Since I had never heard of the Forsaken before, the desired effect was lost on me.
“So who are the Forsaken?” Penny prompted, impatiently. “Let’s skip the poetry, Daddy, and just tell him. It’s been a long day.”
Orsirio huffed, but agreed. “Our ancestors on Perwyn had many arcane magics. Most of them we only barely understand in our ignorant age. But there were some things that were particularly important to them, and one of the things the ancient Perwynese Magocracy was concerned with was the Forsaken. And the Forsaken were . . . well, we’re not sure.”
“Not sure?” I found that hard to believe.
“Oh, there are whole books on the Order’s duties to the Forsaken, how it’s our sacred responsibility to faithfully guard the rites and regalia. The matter is always treated with the utmost reverence. But as to what or whom the Forsaken actually were . . . we are . . . unsure.”
“But they’re important,” I said, trying to figure this out.
“Without a doubt,” he assured me.
“And they’re powerful,” I added, half-asking.
“They are referred to as having the ultimate powers . . . destruction, dissolution, there’s plenty of different ways they say it, but the Privy Council was clearly both afraid and respectful of the Forsaken.”
“Why were the Forsaken . . . forsaken?” I asked. That’s when the Ducal Court Mage, Master Gorthus, hobbled forward and began reading from a scroll.
“ ‘Before the time of the first Archmage, control of Perwyn was splintered into several great and mighty powers,’” he recited. “‘As the Void spawned humanity unto Perwyn and it constituted itself in its new home, it had to contend with the great and fearful Leviathans of the Seafolk, and the caprices of the gurvani, and the shifting alliances of the Alka Alon, and the other dangers of Callidore.
“ ‘Among these powers who shared the rule of Perwyn were those who had made great study of the magics of the Alka Alon. And when they demonstrated their newfound spells to their fellows, many of the other powers on Perwyn were against them. There were struggles and battles, but in the end the Magi, as they had styled themselves, had been threatened with Dissolution and Destruction by the . . . Forsaken.’ From what we have learned from these, the oldest of our writings, either side could summon the Forsaken to judge them, and the Magi feared that judgment,” the old wizard explained.
“They sound like gods,” Penny observed. “Or demons. What do the gods say about them?” she asked.
“Precious little, my lady,” Master Gorthus admitted. “They are mentioned but a handful of times in the histories of the gods. Mayhap there are yet ancient scrolls still lurking in the vaults of Vore and Merwin, but the gods themselves, it is said, feared the judgment of the Forsaken.”
I whistled in appreciation. The gods feared little, from what I understood. These Forsaken sounded like mighty warriors.
“So just what is the Order’s position on the Forsaken?” I asked.
Of course they couldn’t just answer me – a chime rang, signaling that it was time for a wine course. An iced white wine from Drisine, served in snow from the mountains with a wedge of lemon on the side was brought out and served with great ceremony and a flute solo. While we sipped the delicate beverage, two jugglers threw flaming daggers around the room while a drummer and a piper played.
“That’s . . . one of the things we’re unsure of,” continued Orsirio, quietly, while we drank. “We have the initial Rituals of Summoning, but they are arcane to the point of insensibility, and require a number of unlikely things from a number of places to be performed. Ultimately the mage who dares summon the Forsaken must go to the sunken spires of Perwyn, itself.” Orsirio sounded apologetic. “I wish we knew more about their nature, Master Minalan, but so much has been lost to us over the years.”
That was the nicest way I had ever heard someone refer to my book-burning, mage-hating ancestors. These Remerans turned ass-kissing into an art form.
“Yet your Order has a duty to . . . summon them?”
Orsirio shrugged. “We think so. But we could be wrong. It could be that we are to guard Callidore against their fury.”
I pondered a moment. “Well, the Forsaken are an unknown variable. The Dead God is known . . . all too well,” I said, thinking of the butchery at Timberwatch. “At the moment I can fight him, but I have no clear way to defeat him. The Forsaken sound like they might have the power to do so. If the gods themselves were afraid of them, maybe the Dead God will be, too.”
“That’s certainly a possibility,” Master Gorthus admitted.
“Then again, if they find common cause and ally against us,” Pentandra pointed out, “then all of Callidore shall fall between them.”
“This, too, is a possibility,” Gorthus agreed.
“You’re not exactly inspiring a lot of confidence,” I grimaced. “If your Order doesn’t know exactly what its duty is in relation to the Forsaken, then why do you pursue the matter so rigorously?”
“Because we know it’s very important,” stressed Orsirio.
“Our top priority,” assured Gorthus.
“We seek to fulfill our obligation to the Forsaken – if there is one – regardless of what it might be. That has been the goal to which the Order always pledged itself,” offered Mistress Letuandua, speaking for the first time in a voice that sounded like a bullfrog. “What else should we do with all of this old stuff?”
“And you need irionite to do that duty . . . whatever it is,” I ventured. “I take it irionite is absolutely essential.”
“Of course,” Orsirio said. “It was the cornerstone of Imperial magic. There are several places in the summoning which only may be accomplished with the aid of irionite. Which is why we now beseech you, Master Minalan, to pledge your assistance to the Order in executing its duty faithfully,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
“Whatever that duty might happen to be,” I answered cautiously.
“Yes, exactly,” Orsirio said. It may have been the most perverse use of the term I’d ever heard.
I considered. What did I have to lose? They wanted to lavish me with spells and gold and resources. And all I had to do was agree to help them with the research. At worst, the Forsaken would end up arguing with Sheruel over who got the biggest share of the ruins, but there was also a chance that they could be genuinely helpful . . . if they even existed. If they were mere figments of historical fiction, then that might be even better.
Before I could answer, the chime rang again and it was time for the fruit course. Fresh, juicy apples, some oranges, redfruits, cherries, and blueberries, again packed in snow, but sprinkled with finely-ground sugar and served with a small plate of rich, subtle cheeses. While we sampled the incredible dish, a girl sang a b
eautiful Remeran love ballad about a pirate captain who goes to sea only to return in disguise and discover his wife with her lovers. Plural. It got kind of twisted after that.
“Look, I don’t see why we can’t pursue this line of research,” I said carefully, after I spit out the last of the cherry pits. “Especially if there’s even a hope that the Forsaken can take the Dead God in a fight. But it cannot be my first priority – you must understand that. I will give you what help I can, but if it takes resources away from the war, it goes to the bottom of the list. Other than that, I don’t see why not.”
That seemed to please every member of the Order in the room. Mistress Letuandua looked like she was about to cry tears of joy. Orsirio gave me a full body hug. I’ve never seen people so happy about chasing an imaginary super-god before.
But then Orsirio called for a toast, and we got down to the serious drinking.
They call it the Toast of Promise, an old Remeran custom dating from the days of the first plantations. Nine tiny china cups, each filled with different liquors. Each cup is emptied following a ritual invocation of the gods, the spirits, the ancestors, etc., to observe and bless the occasion. Remerans apparently do it at all important occasions.
Everyone was served a little tray of these things. They don’t sound like much, and each one was no bigger than a thimble, but downing nine of them – each more exotic and delicious than the last – was quite an experience. Especially after the wines I’d already sampled.
“Now,” Penny said, wiping her lips after the ninth toast, “back to business. The Order wants to donate a number of its records and scrolls. And lend its expertise. And probably some money. Money?” she asked, slurring her words a little. Penny weighs about as much as a pregnant nanny goat. That liquor had to be hitting her.
“Money,” Master Gorthus assured her. “The members of the Order have been quite generous over the years. “
“Then . . . let’s consider a few practical matters,” she continued. “First, we’re going to need magi to fight the Dead God. Can the Order help ensure that there is a goodly supply of high-quality candidates?”
“We can,” agreed Mistress Letuandua. “We have several promising students. Each family would be willing to contribute a few sons to the war effort, I think.”
“What about intelligence?” I asked. “You have your Order, I now have mine. We have mutual political enemies. If I could count on receiving any important information about those enemies . . .”
“You may consider us at your disposal,” agreed Gorthus. “Our members hear many secrets.”
“Excellent. What about proper facilities? If we are to pursue this ‘research project,’ we’ll need space to work. Several places.”
“The Order has many sites which may be suitable,” noted Orsirio, and listed some. And it went on like that. Everything we wanted, they were happy to grant us. If this is the way Remerans negotiate, I could get used to it.
We kept “negotiating” through three more food courses and two exquisite alcohol tastings. About three hours after midnight, I was near insensible, sprawled on my couch and drooling as servant girls continued to ply me with food and drink long after the need was sated.
They didn’t seem to mind roaming hands, either, as I complimented them on their charms in an increasingly friendly and intimate way. I expected Penny to show up and reprove me for taking such liberties at any time – until I glanced over at her couch, and noted the husky young servant lad who had his tongue in her mouth and his hand up her skirt. I couldn’t see her hand, but I had a pretty idea of where it was and what it was doing.
I smiled, drunkenly, and one of the servant girls kissed me. I thought about Alya, and missed her terribly, but then someone was lifting the hem of my tunic and I was quite distracted. Then I relaxed, and eventually faded into oblivion.
The shitty thing about oblivion? Eventually, it stops.
The next thing I knew someone was slapping my face and splashing cold water on me. My head swam and I struggled feebly, until I suddenly felt preternaturally calm.
Someone had cast a spell on me. I would have been resentful, had it not been followed by a sobering spell of some magnitude. I felt ill, for a moment, and then was quite in touch with my faculties.
I wasn’t able to articulate that in time to keep someone from sloshing another large ewer of cold water over my head.
“I’m awake!” I sputtered in protest. “Ishi’s nips in the cold, what’s the matter?”
“There’s been news,” Penny said, quietly. “From Gilmora. From the front.”
I took a towel offered by a servant and began drying my hair. My tunic was soaked. My attention was on Penny, however, as I felt my stomach tighten. “Have they started their advance?” I asked, hoarsely. Dear gods, I had to pee.
“In a manner of speaking,” she sighed. “The dispatch didn’t have much detail, but it didn’t need to. Two days ago, dragons descended on the garrison castles in Gilmora. All five garrisons were attacked. Two were destroyed outright. The other three sustained serious damage. Thousands have been killed or wounded. Probably tens of thousands. And the stockpiles the garrisons relied on were burned with dragonfire.”
I blinked, trying to banish the stickiness in my eyes. “Five garrison castles?” I asked in disbelief.
“Five,” she agreed, grimly. “Get up. I think we need to have a quick war council.” I glanced outside. Dawn was just breaking. I glanced inside. The room looked like it had been through a very good party.
“Well, yeah,” I agreed, dully. “But what can we do from here?”
“Prepare for the politically inevitable,” she said, helping me to my feet. My knees were seriously considering not reporting for duty. I had to quickly grab my pants before they fell down, too. Somehow the drawstring to my trousers had become untied.
“The politically inevitable? We just endured a major military strike, and you’re concerned with the politics of it?” I was confused, and a little irritated.
“That’s our job, now,” she reminded me. “The Duke – the King – will expect some sort of reassurance and response from us, since we’re the only ones who have had any success with dragons—”
“Even if we didn’t actually slay one, or really know the spell that wounded the only one we’ve seen,” I reminded her.
“Even so, we’re the only weapon the Kingdom will have against them. So we have to prepare a response when the Duke – King – inevitably asks us for one.”
“Penny,” I said, feeling even sicker in a way that had nothing to do with drink, “we just lost a big chunk of the force responsible for keeping Gilmora safe from invasion.
Without those forces the goblins are going to be able to burrow deep into the cotton lands . . . maybe as far as Barrowbell.” I shook my head in disbelief. Nearly forty thousand troops. Gone.
“Which is why Rard is going to need a well thought-out response to the number of suddenly-alarmed high nobles,” she argued. “Min, think about it: three days ago, the only people worried about the threat of goblin invasion were those within a few hundred miles of the front.
“Now that dragons can drop out of the sky hundreds of miles behind the front – or, really, anywhere – that’s going to occur to everyone, peasant to prince. The nobility and the people are going to go mad with anxiety. They’re going to demand action from their monarch, and he’s going to hand the whole nasty mess to us, because that’s what we’re here for. So let’s figure out what we’re going to say and then figure out what we can do, before we’re asked for it.”
“That just seems like swatting flies in a burning house,” I said, discouraged.
“It’s practicing warfare at a higher level,” she corrected me as someone put a mug of something hot in my hand as we headed back to the castle. “You can’t lead from the battlefront anymore – at least not right now. You have people to do that, and they’ll do a great job if you let them. But that’s not what you do anymore, Min. Your job is to keep
the King – or Duke – or anyone else from keeping them from doing it. You keep the institutional foundation solid so that they can go out and get the job done.”
“That seems like a coward’s answer,” I said, a little sullenly, as we headed up the lane. Our various servants and retainers filed in behind us – including, I was intrigued to see, Penny’s cousin Planus.
“Cowardice and bravery are luxuries you can no longer afford,” she insisted. “You have to act on behalf of your profession, now, for the good of the war effort. Institutions aren’t cowardly and they aren’t brave. They either are or they aren’t. You need to be the voice of the Arcane Orders, and more importantly, you need to make everyone feel like you have a real response to the dragons.”
“But I don’t!” I pointed out, irritated.
“Yeah, well, don’t mention that to anyone,” she said, quietly, cutting her eyes at me.
“That kind of defeats the purpose.”
“Then what do I say? What do we say?” I really had no good idea. The best I had in mind was ‘Oops! Sorry!’, but I was guessing that might be impolitic.
Penny apparently agreed. “Well, I don’t know what the exact wording will be until we meet and agree on it, but more than likely it will say something like ‘the Arcane Orders of the Kingdom are aware of the situation and have even anticipated it; although the exact nature and severity of the dragon attacks were a surprise, as was their early deployment, we are not unprepared. Building on the successful efforts of our members against dragons in the past, we anticipate being able to mount a meaningful defense against the beasts as quickly as the gods allow.’ Or something like that.”
I blinked again. “So why don’t we just say that, instead of having a meeting?”
She sighed again. “Because some idiot is going to start asking for specifics, and I need some ideas to throw at them. I don’t know a thing about warmagic, so we need to consider that. We don’t know the extent of the damage or who is going to be the most upset, so we need to do a little scrying. And we now have a loyal body of magi who all happen to be at the same place at the same time, and that makes it an ideal time to have a very public meeting of the magical war council.”
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 41