The hall itself had been expanded – not because Olmeg had many personal servants or a family, but because the manor was now used as a storehouse for the wizard’s most prized seeds and cuttings. Dried herbs and grasses hung from every rafter and wall. Earthenware jars and wooden bowls were filled with seed stocks and root bulbs, littering every shelf. Yet, despite the volume of materials in the manor hall, the contents were neat and orderly.
The high table near the great stone fireplace of the hall was not raised on a dais, as was normally done even in a small manor like this. Instead, Olmeg had lowered it, to be more the height of his diminutive tenants, along with the legs of his chair, and moved it to one side of the fire. When he was in the hall, he sat there with his pipe next to the table and issued orders to his various crews from their own eye level. And that entailed a lot of orders.
As Sevendor’s Greenwarden, he was responsible for the agricultural and horticultural abundance of the entire domain, not just his small estate. The great short table was the nexus of his many projects. It was scattered with sticks, stems, leaves, nuts, plants in pots, and tiny baskets of soil and rock, labelled with which region it came from. Scrolls of parchment containing Master Olmeg’s voluminous notes on his work were scattered across it, much of the time, while others were attached to the great map of the domain, stretched across the wall like a tapestry. Dozens of tiny stools for the Tal Alon dotted side of the wooden trestles.
In addition, Dara knew that Master Minalan often called upon his Greenwarden to fulfill other magical duties, as needed. Like educating his youngest apprentice in his absence. That was the kind of work a Court Wizard did, but as of yet Minalan had not hired one. Dara didn’t mind – she enjoyed her lessons with the Greenwarden.
This afternoon, however, the big wizard was not alone at the table. One of the other “big folk” chairs was occupied by yet another of Sevendor’s wizards, Master Zagor. His own puppy, a littermate of Cinder, was wrestling with his boot.
Zagor was a bit of a mystery, to Dara. Unlike Olmeg, who was trained in Imperial-style magic, Zagor was only a hedge wizard – a kind of unofficial mage who practiced without being registered and credentialed. Or he had been, before Zagor escaped from his doomed domain with the rest of the Bovali who’d come to Sevendor with Master Minalan. He didn’t even wear a traditional wizard hat, usually. He had the same harsh accent as the other Wilderlands emigrants, and dressed as they did.
But Zagor had made a special point of visiting each of the yeomanries of Sevendor, when he and his folk had arrived to introduce himself. Unlike Banamor, Zagor was far more concerned with helping people than with making money. With Master Minalan’s encouragement he’d used his magic to help the common folk of the vale, often free of charge. Dara had to admit that the effort had helped the native Sevendori accept the strange-sounding, strange-acting newcomers even as they’d transformed the little land.
Zagor’s work in Southridge, Gurisham, and as far away as Brestal had made him a figure of respect among the peasants of Sevendor. Zagor was a friend of the Spellmonger’s, and even Lady Pentandra respected his wisdom. Only in Genly hamlet had his efforts been treated with suspicion, and ultimately refused. Genly hamlet wasn’t there anymore.
“Come in, Dara,” Master Olmeg called in his deep baritone voice through a thick cloud of pipe smoke that made the magelight above him flicker. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Dara figured Master Zagor’s presence meant another lesson in herbomancy, not boring old glyphs or sigils. Like all good hedge wizards, what Zagor lacked in academic knowledge of magic, he made up for in terms of practical magic. That included the understanding of the use of hundreds, maybe thousands of herbs, roots, rocks and clays and how they needed to be prepared. Master Min wanted her educated in both High and Low magic spells, and Zagor knew plenty of the latter.
But she was mistaken.
“Have a seat, Dara,” Olmeg said, in his impossibly deep, kindly voice as he gestured for a Tal Alon servant to bring them refreshment. “Today, we’re going to discuss . . . the Alka Alon.”
“Huh?” Dara asked, as she sat in the third human-sized chair at the table.
“Don’t grunt, my girl, it makes you sound ignorant,” Master Olmeg corrected, without sounding judgmental.
“Sorry, Master. We’re going to discuss the Alka Alon?” she asked, confused, as she looked from Olmeg to Zagor and back.
“You may not know this, Dara, but Zagor was actually fostered by the Fair Folk back in the Wilderlands, in his youth,” explained Master Olmeg. “There was an enclave of them in the north of his country. That is where he learned to tame his rajira when it emerged, with their assistance. In the process he learned many of their ways.”
Dara looked at the hedge wizard in a new light. “You learned magic from the Alka Alon?”
“As much as they were able,” the man nodded, modestly. “Human voices are not made to sing songspells,” he admitted, lighting his own owl-shaped pipe. “But my Talent was emerging, and there was no wizard at hand to take me in and teach me his craft. So, the Fair Folk invited me to live with them. I studied with them for years. Alas, mortals can only dwell in their realms for short times, lest we go mad,” he sighed. “Eventually, I returned to my own land.”
“How did they teach you to do magic, if you couldn’t sing their spells?” Dara asked.
“They . . . improvised,” Zagor explained. “I was a bit of an experiment to them. A wizard must always be able to experiment Dara, never forget that. I was a kind of a pet, I suppose. I gave them a chance to play with a humani child’s emerging magical Talent. For years, I served them faithfully. In turn, they taught me what magic I could learn. No, I could not sing their music,” he sighed, sadly. “The most beautiful music you’ve ever heard, ever felt. It sinks into your bones, gets behind your eyes, and pours through your blood like fire.”
“But it is not the magic of the Alka Alon we wish to discuss with you, Dara,” Olmeg said, calmly. “As intriguing as that subject would be. Master Minalan has requested that Zagor instruct you in some of the other things about the Fair Folk you should know, before traveling in their realms for the first time.”
“Is it dangerous?” Dara blurted out.
Zagor smiled. “Many things are dangerous, Dara. Not all of them seem so. Fire is very dangerous, for instance. Yet once it is understood, it is a useful servant.”
Dara bristled at someone referring to the Flame as a mere servant, but she understood what the wizard meant. “You want me to learn the dangers of the Alka Alon.”
“We want you to learn the intricacies of the Alka Alon,” Master Olmeg corrected. “As much as you can, before you go. Master Minalan wishes you to observe for him, clandestinely. We are to arm you with the context you need to understand some of what you may see.”
“Like what?” Dara asked, as a Tal Alon gave her a mug . . . of milk. Knowing it would be disrespectful of her to refuse or request something else, Dara began to sip the rich, flavorful liquid. At least it was goats’ milk, for a change, as the Tal Alon did not keep cows.
“For instance, did you know that the Alka Alon have tribes or clans, countries and nations, much as we humans do?” Master Olmeg supplied. “Each has its own history, its customs, its manners, its values . . . and sometimes they conflict with each other. To us,” he said, gesturing at the three of them with his pipestem, “the Fair Folk all seem much the same: small, delicate, elegant. But there are differences in the Alka Alon as great as the differences between a Wilderlord from Alshar and a merchant captain sailing the Shallow Sea out of Cormeer.”
“There are five great nations of Alka Alon on Callidore,” Zagor began lecturing her. “And many smaller nations. Some are . . . well, you might not recognize them as Alka Alon, if you saw them, but they are kin to those we have here, in the Five Duchies.
“Three of the major kindreds live among us, here in the Five Duchies, but yet live rever apart from us. It is vital that you understand their diff
erences.
“The first are the most common of the Alka Alon, the Avalanti kindred. The little land of Ameras was of the Avalanti, though sometimes there were visitors from other refuges and other kindreds, while I was there. The Avalanti are great lovers of trees and growing things. They understand the songspells of all living things,” he explained, softly. “From the tiniest seed to the greatest Leviathan of the sea. They revere most of all the trees of Callidore: their own, those which were here when they arrived, and those we humani gifted them, when we came here.”
“They like trees,” Dara nodded, absently. “So, the Emissaries are Avalanti?”
“There is one representative from each kindred,” Olmeg informed her. “Lady Ithalia is from the Avalanti. Of an ancient and noble house,” he added, approvingly.
“Though one also known for its mischief,” Zagor agreed, smiling at some personal jest. “The Avalanti love life and live simply. Many live in trees, exploring the majesty of nature. They are a peaceful folk, unused to war. Though they know how to fight, at great need.”
“Then there are Lady Fallawen’s folk: the Versaroti,” Master Olmeg continued to inform her, as he sipped a great mug of weak ale. “Just as the Avalanti revere Nature, the Versaroti are devoted to the process of creation. From epic poems that can last for hours to cities of great beauty, the Versaroti pride themselves on creation and building. The Versaroti built the great cities of the Alka Alon. Most lie now in ruins,” he added.
“And then there are the Farastamari, Lady Varen’s kindred,” Zagor said, thoughtfully. “They are the least numerous, and the most mysterious of the three kindreds in human lands. The Farastamari are great masters of lore. They seek to learn . . . everything. They desire no less than to understand the universe, itself. They are scholars who cling to hidden settlements where they can pursue their studies.”
“Gardeners, artisans and scholars,” Dara nodded, as she tried to absorb the knowledge. “They seem like peasants, townsmen and . . . well, magi,” she decided.
“Clever girl!” nodded Olmeg, enthusiastically. “In truth, there is much similarity. The plentiful Avalanti tend to the forests and groves, providing for the Alka Alon. The Versaroti supply the fundamentals of their civilization – they are the closest to the Karshak and Dradrien clans. And the Farastamari are the sages who keep the deep lore, the ancient knowledge to guide their civilization.
“Yet all three kindreds have their own nobles. Their own great houses, struggling for dominance,” he warned. “Their own factions and internal conflicts.
“Only the struggles of the Alka Alon last thousands of years, not merely a few lifetimes,” Zagor agreed. “Sometimes subtly, sometimes violently. As fair and mighty as they are, even the hearts of the Alka Alon can contain darkness. Most of their civilization lies in ruin from their wars.”
“The Alka Alon fought wars?” Dara asked, in disbelief. “They seem so peaceful and calm!”
“Immortal beings of great power can be just as subject to wrath as the weak and ephemeral. That is why there are so many ruins, and so few of their cities, left,” Olmeg continued. “Castabriel, great capital of our duchy, is built on the ruins of one. Another lies within the bounds of Sarthador, deep in the forest there. Another sprawls through the center of Wenshar, and another in the Westlands. Once, this land was home to millions. A civilization greater than ours, at its height.
“After the great wars, there were only a few surviving clans and houses left of each kindred. That was why we were invited to live here, you see,” Olmeg sighed, “because the Alka Alon here had done such a poor job with this land. Thus, it was recorded by the Archmagi of old, as told in the great epics of the Alka Alon.”
“So . . . do I have to learn all that history?” Dara asked, despairing. She was just starting to learn the history of her own people. She found it a depressing and boring subject, especially remembering which Archmage was which. To have to learn an entirely different history – of immortals – made her want to run from the room.
“No, my dear,” chuckled Olmeg. “Despite the hundreds great epics of theirs we have recorded, little is actually known of them. Only what we can glean from the translations. Creating a history of their civilization, the way we understand the term, is nearly impossible. But the remnants of those powers who warred their civilization near to ashes have politics, just as we humans do. Politics that must be understood.”
“Politics? Ashes, I’d rather learn history!” Dara said, making a face.
“You will discover, my girl, that history is merely the result of politics viewed in the mirror of hindsight, I’m afraid,” Olmeg chuckled, amused. “Very well. We shall endeavor to keep things simple, then – which suits us, as we have little time before the council,” the wizard decided. “From what we understand from our speech with the Emissaries and others, we have learned of several factions among the Alka Alon.
“Factions,” she said, turning the unfamiliar word over in her mouth.
“Yes, a faction is merely a group of like-minded people. The Alka Alon have several. One is strongly opposed to any prolonged contact with humanity at all. They bear us no love, and see mixing our affairs as dangerous. But most of that faction is willing to just ignore us as much as possible.
“Another, thankfully, seeks to embrace the opportunity for our two races to work together again. That faction seems to be in ascendance. It is responsible for sending the Emissaries to us, as well as gifts such as the Covenstone and the Thoughtful Knife. Indeed, each of the three Emissaries is part of that faction,” Olmeg said, thoughtfully.
“But there are others, Dara,” Zagor said, darkly. “There are those who actively resent humanity’s residence here in the Five Duchies. They actually wish us harm. They are very few, but they exist, both within the councils of the Fair Folk and on their own. It is not a good thing, Dara, for humanity to have such powerful enemies.”
“Why would they hate us?” Dara demanded. “We never did anything to them!”
“That is a matter of perspective, Dara,” Olmeg suggested. “The truth is, we do not know what caused the ill will they bear us. Many of those on their council were living when humanity first came to Callidore. But perhaps we can discover it . . . if we observe carefully enough. Likewise, we do not truly know why those Alka Alon who support us do so.”
“It is difficult, to understand the motivations of immortals,” Zagor reflected, scooping up his puppy and depositing him in his lap. “Their memories extend deep into the past, and they can cleave to a grudge obsessively. For centuries. Long after our ancestors were dead and buried, the slights they committed against the Alka Alon are fresh in their memories, whatever they were. The Fair Folk who favor our people, too, have reasons that remain a mystery to us.”
“I . . . see,” Dara said, trying to appreciate what the two wizards were telling her. “How do I know which faction is which? Or which kindred they belong to?”
“There are members of all three kindreds in all the factions,” Olmeg sighed. “And there is little way to distinguish them from each other. You must figure that out, I’m afraid. Not every Alka Alon you meet will be our friend, and you must be wary of that.”
“Dara, realize that you are getting to experience something few living men have ever had: a chance to visit one of the most important of the realms of the Fair Folk. Carneduin is famed in legend and lore as a place of great learning and scholarship. Of old it was a meeting place between our two peoples. It has been closed to us for centuries. Compared to Carneduin, fair Ameras was a quaint village. You are very fortunate to have been chosen to go.”
“Why doesn’t Master Minalan take you, then?” Dara asked.
Zagor shook his head, sadly. “Most of the Alka Alon I knew at Ameras are no more, alas. They were slain or fled in the goblin invasion. More, the Aronin of Ameras, the Alka Alon songmaster who was lord, there, was an Alkan of great importance. But great seclusion. If I came with Minalan, I would be suspect because of my association
with him. And watched perhaps a little too carefully.
“You, however, are a mere apprentice who can ask dumb questions and stare at things she shouldn’t, and not arouse suspicions. I would not serve Minalan as well as you.”
“Listen more than you speak,” counselled Olmeg, nodding. “Watch everything, but do not become so distracted by the wonders of Carneduin that you miss the subtle. Pay attention to details that might be useful later. Move quietly, and do not attract too much attention to yourself.”
“That seems like an awful lot for me to be responsible for,” Dara said, shaking her head. She was not the type of girl who enjoyed spying, like some she’d known. “You’re going to depend upon my opinions?”
“You will not be alone in your observations,” chuckled Olmeg. “Indeed, Lady Pentandra and the Spellmonger will be drinking in every nuanced detail of Carneduin and the council. You are to fill in the things that they missed, confirm the things they may doubt, and provide a different perspective of events.
“And, ah, any opportunity you have for picking up any interesting plants or seeds would be very much appreciated. I have a robust nursery, here, but there are some plants that grow only among the Alka Alon . . .”
Dara suppressed a giggle as she agreed to keep her eyes open for twigs, nuts and berries for the man. As wise and deliberate as Master Olmeg was, when it came to his specialty he was just as obsessed as any wizard she knew.
Chapter Five
The Halls Of Carneduin
“I fully appreciate the social necessity of bringing gifts to our hosts at the Alka Alon council,” Dara announced. “But why did Master Min have to give them his bloody anvil collection?” she gasped, crossly, as she lugged the heavy cask in her arms. In truth, it wasn’t that heavy; but the thirty-pound chest that had seemed manageable back at Sevendor Castle now seemed ponderous, once they’d departed the cart and began walking.
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