High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  This, I discovered, was King Ashakarl, supposedly the direct descendant of Shereul. Now he had been chosen by a council of shamans and warlords in the Umbra to lead them in Shereul’s name. And not just goblins within the Umbra, Shereul’s realm included many human settlements, now, and he intended to treat with the rest of us just like another human kingdom, Ashakarl pledged in front of the court, before he signed the official treaty recognizing his land.

  I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood while he signed.

  The gurvani envoy spoke fluent Narasi, with hardly any accent. He knew enough human court manners to keep from embarrassing himself. And he dressed in custom-tailored human-style clothing. If there was such thing as a gurvani courtier, this was it. I didn’t speak to him, at court. I was afraid of what I might say. But Hartarian conversed with him at length, and reported that he seemed an intelligent and reasonable fellow who seemed to speak of nothing but peace between our realms. Hartarian wasn’t believing of it, either, but he had to follow his employer’s lead. If the King wanted a treaty and peace, as Court Wizard Hartarian was bound to support that. That didn’t stop him from reporting everything that the gurvan did, and with whom he spoke.

  Nor was King Ashakarl (as we were compelled to call him) the only nonhuman in the city. The Alka Alon sent a sizable delegation, with many rich gifts to the happy couple . . . and used the opportunity for a kind of summit, courtesy of the Arcane Orders.

  I hosted the meeting myself. Lord Aeratas was there, of course, looking splendid in his armor, still in his human-sized form. He had traded his staff for a greatsword and carried it with him everywhere.

  Lord Haruthel was also in attendance. He had come personally after our hollow victory at Anthatiel to check on his old friend and hear for himself the tragic story of the great city’s fall. So had Lady Micrethiel, to my surprise. Lord Letharan arrived late – Anas Yetheran was still recovering from the battering that two dragons had given it before they had been driven off. Now it was attempting to accommodate the Anthatielian refugees, as well. The two kindreds did not mix well or easily, and it was a topic of much discussion. Only the Aronin Ladas had not come, citing the evacuee issue. Anthatiel had over ten thousand Alka Alon when the war began. Most of those needed a place to live, now.

  The four lords of the Alka Alon council were disheartened by the fall of Anthatiel, and what it portended for the future. Not only was the strain on resources hard for them, the promise of more warfare was looming. They did not believe King Ashakarl’s empty words about peace any more than we did.

  In fact, now the Alka Alon were the ones who were determined to carry on the war. They admitted it would take then a few years to prepare, but they had every intention of ending the threat of Shereul. And they were far more eager to help, now.

  Only they were considering expelling Lord Aeratas from the council, on the basis that his city was no longer a power in the region. The suggestion came from Micrethiel, whom I felt was trying to jockey for power on the council.

  “Absolutely not,” declared the diminutive Lord Letharan. “Aeratas and I may have our differences, but he still holds great power. Indeed, who among us would you choose to lead our armies, once we build them? Aeratas has earned his place here, and with his fortress or without he should remain a voice in our concerns. Had Anas Yetheran fallen to the dragons, would you be so quick to see me stricken from the council as well?”

  “I merely felt that this was a council of powers,” defended the tiny lady of Nandaroriel. “It was originally designed—”

  “The purpose for which it was originally designed has long become moot,” Master Haruthel sighed. “The council has been in fact a governing body for some time. One based on factions and alliances as dead as the original purpose of the council. If this council is not sufficient to that task, then let us augment it to fit the needs of the day.”

  “Wise counsel,” agreed Aeratas. “I clung to the glories of the past, thinking I was unassailable because of past greatness and forgotten might. It cost me my city, and nearly my daughter and my life. Let us consider the needs of the time, and see if we cannot form a more robust response to this threat than we have.”

  “Do you actually intend to wear that horrid form for the duration of the struggle?” asked Lady Micrethiel, distastefully. “The odor is bad enough, but—”

  “I will,” affirmed the lord-in-exile. “I and all of my folk. These forms are powerful and strong. They are resilient, and they give us great advantage in battle.”

  “But does it not become tiresome to be burdened with the limitations of such a body?” asked Micrethiel. “They are woefully inefficient in so many ways. The necessity to consume, as they have, and their . . . mating habits . . .”

  “It is not nearly as disconcerting as you might think, once you become used to it,” assured Aeratas. “My daughter has taught me the wisdom of knowing our friends in this way. It changes your perspective, it is true, and certain elements of it are . . . disturbing to my mind. But they are tall, strong, fast and sturdy. Just the vessels we need to prosecute this war.”

  “I still can’t believe you let your daughter marry one,” she sniffed. “No offense,” she added, as if she was just noticing the human in the room.

  “None taken,” I dismissed. “It is a bold experiment. My man, Sir Ryff, is a brave and true warrior. He is utterly devoted to Lady Fallawen. And she has some affection for him, despite herself, I think. A strange union, it is true, but these are strange times.”

  “In truth,” nodded Haruthel. “It has been centuries since there was such a union. Let us hope that things work out better this time. For our part, I wish to see my friend bring his people back to his realm someday, and I will do what needs to be done to that end. If the wedding between Fallawen and this humani is fruitful, then let us encourage them.”

  “I think it is still early in the experiment for that,” Micrethiel said, flatly. She was clearly not amused by the thought of such unnatural perversions. “There is also talk of pardoning some of the old rebels and enlisting their aid. Under the circumstances, this might be advisable.”

  “We shall consider each case individually,” Lord Letharan agreed. “There are many I would not see free, no matter what the circumstance.”

  “But others have demonstrated their sincerity, even if they have forgotten their wisdom,” Aeratas nodded. “Considering the nature of their talents and the relative unimportance of their crimes . . .”

  “A discussion for another time,” Haruthel nodded. “Of more pressing concern is the report of the sighting of the daughter of the Aronin of Angriel. She is, apparently, somewhere within the Penumbra, though her exact location is unknown. Even more concerning is the company she was keeping.”

  “And who might that be? Outlaws?”

  “A dragon,” answered Master Haruthel. “One escaped the clutches of the Abomination last year and made a home for itself in the wild. This is disturbing news. To have such weapons in the control of the enemy is bad enough. To have them wild and free to destroy at will is unacceptable. This will become a problem, my friends, unless something is done about it. Nor is she alone. She was seen in the company of a humani mage. Nothing else is known right now, but at least she is alive. And we have an obligation to seek her out and bring her back to our refuges.”

  “A dragon? In the wild?” I asked, my eyes wider. That did sound a little more terrifying than one under Shereul’s control. “Shouldn’t we just leave it alone?”

  “It is not that simple, Spellmoinger,” explained Micrethiel. “Eventually, it will seek to mate. And the consequences of that might be disastrous.”

  “I’m thinking the consequences are leaning heavily toward disastrous already,” I countered. “A dragon? Another one?”

  “Just one of many matters of concern for this council, Master Minalan,” Haruthel agreed. “And since your affairs seem to overlap with ours a great deal these days, I propose we include Master Minalan as an associate member of
the council, as we have done in such situations in the past.”

  “Me?” I asked, confused. “I’m not an Alka Alon!”

  “You are helpful and useful,” Letharan said, shaking his head. “Compared to that idiot who leads you, politically, you are not that poor a representative of your species. This is not the first time that the council has included non-Alkans.”

  “Uh . . . thanks,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “And I do suppose I have a stake in this now, since your daughter is marrying one of my vassals, and you’re going to be my neighbor for a while.”

  “No more than a few centuries, I promise,” Aeratas said. “I miss my city already. I am already considering how I want to rebuild it. As . .. quaint as the Uwarris are, they are nothing compared to the Mindens.”

  “Well, I hope your stay is a pleasant one,” I said, realizing that having a proud Alka Alon lord for a vassal might not be as easy as I thought. “And it might interest you to know that there is a small outcropping of snowstone there, which you are free to mine and use as you see fit to outfit your . . . encampment.”

  “More of a cottage, actually,” Aeratas said. “Nothing extravagant.”

  I didn’t believe that one moment.

  “So that is to be our plan, then,” Haruthel announced. “We shall bank our fires and marshal our strengths, until we are sufficient to fight the Abomination properly. A plan with many advantages. Not the least of which is not attracting attention.”

  “Attention?” I asked, curious. “Who’s attention?”

  “There are other powers at work on Callidore,” explained Lord Letharan, stoically. “Powers so great the squabbles of the Alka Alon and the humani mean nothing. That is the real danger here, Master Minalan, the danger you are not aware of. One reason why we were cautious with our response to Shereul was not a lack of will, but a desire to avoid attracting the wrong sort of attention. Had we used all of our strength and powers . . . well, the consequences could have been far worse than merely losing a city, as painful as that is.”

  “Yet we have gotten adept at such subtleties,” agreed Haruthel. “And if we are cautious and careful, we can end this war before those powers even realize that it was fought. That, my friends, is my greatest hope.”

  That sent my head spinning into a thousand different directions, after the council meeting, and I realized that there was an awful lot about this world that I had not learned yet. And now, I also realized, I might just have some time to pursue that knowledge.

  We were at peace, after all. We had a treaty.

  After the council adjourned I slowly walked up the stairs to the top of the complex, the great tower that commanded such an excellent view of the City of Lights. It seemed a mean and squat mockery of Anthatiel’s graceful spaces, but it was still a rich and vibrant city. It might not last a thousand years, but while it was here it deserved to be protected. I dismissed the guards from the roof and set a chair near the edge of the balcony. Then I set up another, before planting a torch in a convenient socket and lighting it by magic.

  I didn’t even have to utter a prayer. Briga materialized before I even sat down.

  “Goddess,” I bowed, indicating the chair. “A glass of wine?”

  “Thank you, no,” she smiled. “You did well, Minalan.”

  “We did well. I just got people talking to each other. It was other people’s brilliant ideas that saved the day.”

  “You exercised real power,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s amazing, considering the disadvantage you were in.”

  “I had the gods on my side, too,” I smiled. “That had to help.”

  “Actually, it did,” she agreed. “I gave a little help in half a dozen places, during the battle. Important places. And of course there was the divine inspiration.”

  “That helped,” I agreed, taking my seat. “I suppose you’ll want me to build that temple, now.”

  “Of course, but that’s not why I came here. I think that we need to start making the other gods permanent. If you agree,” she added.

  “The other gods. Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m thinking we want to proceed down that path slowly. Carefully. If what the Alka Alon just told me is true, magic at that sort of level is bound to attract attention. From whom or what, I am not certain, but they seemed a little spooked by it. As if they were trying to keep this entire war a secret from someone.”

  “They are,” she sighed, taking the other seat and watching the flickering lights of Castabriel with me. “They are correct, Minalan. When mankind came to Callidore, the Alka Alon were not the only ones here, nor the greatest of the powers. Callidore has been here a very long time, and we are relative newcomers here.”

  “Sounds like there is a story there,” I remarked, sipping my wine.

  “Hundreds,” she corrected. “The story of humanity on this world is complex and complicated. It involves many betrayals, misdeeds, and heroics. It would take a lifetime to tell.”

  “You’ll just have to give me the exciting bits, then,” I grumbled.

  “Another time, Minalan,” she promised. “I think we shall be working with each other closely in the coming days. We have much to prepare, and while it seems as if Shereul is beaten, that is far from the truth. He is weakened – your defeat of his army was a serious blow – but he is not beaten by far. He, too, will develop his strength and build it up before he strikes again in the open. Until then, expect a nasty, secret little war,” she predicted. “A war with many sides and many factions.”

  “At least the gods are on our side,” I repeated. I meant it to be a joke. She still didn’t laugh.

  “Not all of them,” she said, quietly. “And now there exists the possibility of new gods entering our consciousness. There is no foretelling what loyalties such entities have.”

  “Why wouldn’t they be on our side?” I demanded. “I thought the gods were the products of the collective human subconscious?”

  “We are,” she agreed. “But that is not always in your favor. There are many dark places within the human mind. And not all humans feel the same way about life as you do.”

  “That’s actually a good thing, else nothing would ever get done. I suppose if evil lurks within the heart of man, then it can manifest as a god, too.”

  “And that is what we must avoid,” she insisted. “That is the sort of thing that would . . . attract attention.”

  I laughed. Humorlessly, and perhaps a little bitterly, but I laughed while the goddess of fire looked at me funny.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I just . . . I just realized, that in all this time I have been pursuing power to get things done, that no matter how powerful and important the people I deal with are, there is always someone or something more powerful, more important out there. Even the gods are afraid of something,” I pointed out.

  “We are afraid of a great many things – inexistence, for one, which is why I am grateful for this gift you have bestowed on me. The continuity I have when I manifest now aids my efforts significantly. And I feel that other gods could also benefit from it. Select gods,” she said, carefully. “If we get them to manifest properly, we can quietly start making them permanent fixtures. Hopefully before the wrong people notice. But your observation about power is correct. No matter how great and powerful you are, there are always greater powers in the universe to teach you humility.”

  “What? You think I need to be more humbled?” I asked, accusingly.

  “It’s not my choice,” she stressed. “It is the nature of the universe. Against that even we gods are bound.”

  “So that’s it? I’m supposed to sit back, relax, and help the gods stick around until Shereul decides to start trouble again? That sounds . . . boring,” I decided.

  “Boring?” the goddess asked, amused.

  “A bit,” I nodded. “I mean, I don’t like war – I hate it. But it is exciting. Without battle to look forward to . . . well, what am I going to do to keep myself occupied
?”

  “You know, Minalan,” the goddess of inspiration said, mischievously, “I really don’t think that’s going to be your biggest problem.”

  “Minalan!” called Alya from the stairwell. “It’s late! Are you coming to bed with me?”

  Briga smiled affectionately. “Speaking of the greater powers of the universe . . .” she said, as she faded away. Alya came up the stairs just moments too late to have a divine encounter. A pity. Perhaps it would have convinced me that I wasn’t going insane if someone else actually saw the goddess. But that wouldn’t be wise, just yet, I knew. If I was crazy, I didn’t need anyone else to know about it.

  “Did I hear you talking to someone?” she asked, suspiciously.

  “Just finishing up a little work,” I explained, rising and kissing her. “Are you ready to go home, yet?”

  “I wish we could,” she said, frowning, “but we still have a couple more days of receptions and parties. Why on earth did you let me make friends in this town?” she asked, accusingly. “Now all they want to do is sit around, eat lunch, drink, talk about other women and complain about their husbands!”

  “Don’t let it worry you,” I said, kissing her gently. “We won the war. The king said so. We can start taking a little more time, building things without being in such a hurry for a change.”

  “No more battles?”

  “Not for a while, probably,” I agreed.

  “Okay, then,” she sighed. “I suppose I can put up with a few more receptions if it means I don’t have to worry about you anymore.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I chuckled, putting my hands where they weren’t supposed to be outside of the marriage chamber, according to some prudish advocates of civilization. Luckily I married a country girl. Making love on a rooftop of a spire in the middle of the most gorgeous city in the kingdom might not have been proper, but then what use is power if you don’t abuse it from time to time?