by NS Dolkart
“Willing!” Belkos laughed. “You hear that? The new king of Ardis is willing to make peace with us. Magerion, who was the red priest’s lieutenant during the purge, who slaughtered our parents and brothers – he’s willing to make peace with us, now that we’re about to give him and his people what they deserve.”
He spat on Narky’s face. “Here’s your peace.”
Narky wiped his face with his robe, and Criton could see the rage building within his friend. “Criton,” Narky asked, “who is this idiot? Can you send him away?”
“Belkos is my cousin,” Criton said. “My mother was his aunt.”
“Wow. I guess your side got the decency and the brains.”
Criton folded his arms. “If you want us to make peace with Ardis, you’re doing yourself more harm than good. Apologize to my cousin, or this meeting is over.”
Narky looked back at him with something like distaste. He’d expected more indulgence from Criton, as if they were back with the others all together, where everyone would forgive him for being blunt. He was reassessing now, and it clearly pained him.
“I apologize,” he said, keeping his good eye locked on Criton. “Please forgive me, all of you. I wouldn’t want the Dragon Touched to react to my personal rudeness by murdering thousands. So many people are relying on the Dragon Touched to be merciful, the way your God is supposed to be.”
“Our God is merciful,” Hessina cut in, “but only to the repentant. A city that abandons the worship of a cruel God only to turn to an underhanded one has shown no signs of repentance. Frankly, Ardis does not deserve our mercy.”
“Your king sent an army first,” Kana agreed, “and when that failed, he sent us his city’s rudest messenger to argue for peace when he should have been pleading for it. Your lack of respect is staggering.”
Criton loudly cleared his throat, hoping to cut off any further escalation. “We’ll talk it over and give you our terms,” he said.
Once Narky had been led away, the others turned on Criton. “Our terms?” Belkos asked, his voice shaking. “Our terms are that they die! We’re not going to let Ardis and its leaders mock us just because you’re friends with their high priest!”
“Narky made good points!” Criton objected. “He’s not the most polite person I know, but he’s one of the smartest, and he’s no liar. He believes what he says.”
Hessina snorted. “What he says is nonsense.”
“How do you know? How do you know Ravennis isn’t a servant of God Most High, just as we are? Has our God told you otherwise?”
Hessina shook her head, but she didn’t look any less skeptical.
“You don’t know, then,” Criton said. “I was there when Narky killed Bestillos, and I was there when he killed the giant Boar of Hagardis. I think his argument about Ravennis being a servant of God Most High is a good one. What if he’s right? What if God Most High has judged Ravennis worthy of serving Him in this world and the underworld? Our God reigns supreme in the heavens – He doesn’t need Ardis. What harm will come to us from offering peace terms?”
“You’re young,” Belkos said, “and you’re foreign. It’s easy for you to say that Magor was responsible for the purge, but we remember those days. It wasn’t Magor who killed our families, it was the Ardismen. After what they did to us, they think that running to another God will protect them now that we’re here to take our city back? Our God is merciful, but Ardis doesn’t deserve His mercy. It definitely doesn’t deserve ours.”
“The purge happened almost thirty years ago,” Criton countered. “When you take the city, will you spare those too young to have participated in it? No, you’ll kill everyone you can get your hands on, and thirty years from now, the remnants of the Ardismen will try to take their city back and punish the people who killed their parents.”
“Let them try,” Belkos sneered. “You think the children of Ardis deserve our mercy because only their parents and grandparents sought to wipe us out? What do you think these children will try to do when they’re of age?”
Hessina nodded. “A guardian tree doesn’t produce carob seeds, Criton. A poisoned tree bears poisoned fruit.”
“That’s an argument for perpetual war.”
“No,” Belkos said, “it’s an argument for winning this war once and for all. If God Most High is on our side, our enemies will never rise again.”
Criton turned to the plainsmen. “Do you agree with this? The Ardismen have been your enemies and your overlords for generations. Do you think we should ignore their pleas for mercy?”
Endra spoke first. “I think with favorable enough terms, a peace might be granted. If Ardis were to pay us tribute, and if their walls were to come down as those of Anardis once did, I think that might be suitable. With tributes of gold, bronze, and stone, a city of the Dragon Touched could rise in the north.”
“It is a possibility,” Kana agreed.
Criton turned back to Hessina. “Our God has named you our leader in matters of religion. What religious tribute would you require the Ardismen to make, if we were going to make peace with them?”
He could tell that Hessina didn’t like the question, but she found it unable to dismiss as the others turned to her expectantly. He had asked it well, he knew, reminding her that she was a religious leader and not a political one, and that their God had entrusted him with the authority to make peace as well as war.
At last she said, “Abandoning Magor is not enough, if they have simply adopted another false God in His stead. The people of Ardis would have to accept God Most High as the Lord Above All, and the master of their new patron God. If your friend Narky is serious about saving Ardis, he can stand before his people as the high priest of Ravennis and proclaim that his God is subservient to ours, a heavenly lieutenant tasked with the mission of bringing God Most High’s order to the world below. If the people embrace this teaching and repent of their actions in the purge, Ardis will be worthy of God Most High’s mercy.”
Endra raised his eyebrows. “That’s a lot to ask.”
“It’s perfect,” Criton said. “Narky has the authority to make God Most High’s supremacy official dogma for the worshippers of Ravennis. If he wants to save Ardis, he’ll do it. He suggested the idea himself; let him own it.”
They spent the next hour discussing the specifics of the proposed tribute Ardis would have to pay, and then sent for Narky. He grimaced when he heard their conditions, but promised to deliver their message to Magerion and return with his answer. Then he left with his guards, and it fell to Criton to calm his cousin.
Hessina might have given Criton her blessing to negotiate terms despite her skepticism, but Belkos was inconsolable. “You’re selling our victory away for smoke and vapor,” he said. “This decision will doom us. Our grandchildren will be slaves.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Criton said. He didn’t understand his cousin’s anger – why should Belkos be so attached to this war when even Hessina was willing to see where Criton’s negotiations would lead?
“Magerion may not accept the terms,” Kilion pointed out. He had been nearly silent throughout the meeting, but apparently he too was bothered by Belkos’ irrationality.
“That won’t forgive what you’ve tried to do here,” Belkos said. “You would give Ardis away for nothing.”
“How can you say that?” Criton asked. “If Magerion accepts our terms for peace, it’ll mean the end of Ardisian rule over the north, a yearly tribute in gold and stone, and the elevation of God Most High even among the worshippers of Ravennis! How could you dismiss all that?”
Belkos looked at him with contempt. “All those things would be ours if we conquered Ardis as we always meant to. There’s nothing they can give us that we couldn’t take ourselves, but with the surrender of Ardis to Magerion and his people, you leave open the possibility that some day they’ll stop paying the tribute, that their religious doctrines could change or their new God be abandoned, and that they will seek to destroy us again. You are sellin
g us for nothing.”
“We’re selling them their own lives for peace,” Criton said. “It seems like a fair enough trade to me.”
But Belkos only stormed out of the tent.
“Give him time,” Hessina counseled. “He too will be glad when this war is over.”
Criton nodded absently. He wondered.
41
Phaedra
Phaedra did not stay to watch Psander take a saw to the elf’s head. It was the most she could do just to ask Psander how her interrogations were going the next day, when the wizard poked her head into the library.
“Most profitably,” Psander answered. “The elven anatomy appears to be built much the same as ours, and yet now that the head has been removed, it is operating on magical rather than anatomical principles. I believe – though I do not yet know – that the head gathers all the magic into itself upon severance and uses it as a backup system until, presumably, it is either reattached or destroyed. From what I’ve gathered so far, the magic is stored in the heart prior to severance, which is why the elves believe that devouring a heart will increase one’s power. Presumably, now that the magic has transferred from heart to brain, the elven way would be to devour the latter.”
“Oh,” Phaedra said, trying to keep her disgust from showing. “Do you plan on… doing that?”
“I’ll admit I’ve considered it,” Psander said, “but I think there is more to be learned before I take such final measures. Olimande can still talk, you know, even with the top of his skull removed. And with greater access to his brain, I think I may be able to disinhibit him and improve the quality of his answers. I shall have to be very careful, but I think it can be done.”
Psander finally seemed to take note of Phaedra’s discomfort as she said this, and twisted her mouth thoughtfully. “Perhaps while I am conducting my experiments, you should take the opportunity to conduct some research of your own. Independent research used to be a staple of magical schooling, back when such a thing existed. I believe we will both be glad to see you put to good use here in the library rather than getting in my way upstairs.”
Phaedra nodded. “That sounds perfect.”
“What have you been reading this morning?”
“Nothing in particular,” Phaedra lied. In actuality, she had been scanning the first few lines of scroll after scroll and codex after codex, searching for any sign of healing magic. Psander had once told her that healing magic was a lost art, that there was no way to fix her ankle, and yet Phaedra knew that some texts still existed from the days of academic healing magic – after all, she had brought Psander just such a scroll from Anardis. Developments in Magical Surgery it had been called, and she doubted it was the only one of its kind.
So far, her search had been unsuccessful. Besides Developments, which covered magical techniques for wound cleaning and ultra-localized cautery, the only other scroll of healing magic that Phaedra had found so far described a rather horrifying surgery for the male anatomy. She was very glad that she had put that one away before Psander came in.
“I meant to ask you,” she said, pointing to a side table piled high with scrolls. “What are all those doing there? Were you researching the underworld?”
“I wasn’t,” Psander answered, “though I had meant to at one time. In return for her help with the Boar of Hagardis, I had promised Bandu that I would tell her how to retrieve her wolf from the world below. It’s a ridiculous notion, of course – you don’t risk your soul for an animal that was barely going to last the decade anyway. But for a brief while, I thought I might have time to research the question.”
“But you won’t now,” Phaedra said with disappointment, noting the finality in Psander’s voice. The wizard might have opened her tower to the villagers, might have finally revealed herself to them, but that didn’t mean she had changed. Promises meant nothing to her, except as tools for getting what she wanted.
“No,” Psander agreed, “I won’t. There has always been a more pressing concern, and I imagine there always will be.”
Phaedra looked over at the pile of books. “Then I will.”
“You will do no such thing. I’ve given you all the tools you need to be truly useful – I won’t have you squander your skills on such frivolity when there is much more urgent work to be done. It won’t be long before I’ll be sending you back, after all.”
“What?” Phaedra cried. “You need me to go back? Why are you only telling me this now?”
She could have answered her own question. Psander never volunteered information until it was convenient for her to do so, and she never acted out of the goodness of her heart. Bandu called her a wicked woman, Narky called her a blackmailer and a manipulator, and neither of them were wrong. It was the thing Phaedra disliked most about her mentor, even as it was nearly inseparable from the quality she admired most: Psander’s unapologetic use of power.
After a meaningless, defensive answer to Phaedra’s second question, Psander went back to answering the first. “When we first arrived here,” she said, “the ground shook, and so did the sky. Was there no such effect in the other world?”
“The sky shaking?”
Psander nodded. “It only happened here, then. Had it happened on your side, you would have known. A skyquake is not a subtle effect. If you stay here for long enough, you’re bound to witness one – which, I assure you, you don’t want to do.”
“I trust you,” Phaedra said. It was hard to imagine quite what a skyquake would be like, but that only made the concept more frightening.
Psander went on: “I assumed at first that the skyquake was a temporary aftereffect of our arrival. But there was another soon afterward, and another three months after that. The first came during an assault by the Goodweather elves, and I’m sure it was that more than anything that convinced them my wards were too strong to be overpowered through sheer numbers. The coincidence is responsible for our survival.
“Even so, the phenomenon itself is extremely ominous. I have had some time since then to determine what causes these skyquakes, and I believe that this world is being dragged closer to yours, to a dangerous extent. Our arrival here and the introduction of the Yarek on the other side have bound the worlds closer together, and they are moving closer still. As far as I can tell, if the connection isn’t loosened then the two will eventually crash, most likely killing everyone on both.”
Phaedra couldn’t help but gasp – it was too terrible to believe. Would God Most High really have allowed the islanders to plant the Yarek’s seed in their soil even if it meant the eventual destruction of both worlds?
“Then why haven’t we seen any skyquakes on our side?” she asked. Surely, Psander had made some mistake.
Or maybe she hadn’t. It was true that God Most High had been kind to Phaedra and her friends so far, but that didn’t mean she could know His motives. Maybe the islanders had been meant to bring about the worlds’ end?
“I had assumed,” Psander told her, “that there had been skyquakes on your side as well. I cannot pretend that I understand the situation fully, but my first guess is that this world’s much smaller size makes it more vulnerable to such disturbances. Presumably as the two worlds move closer together, your side too will begin to see these effects.”
“But you think we can fix this?” Phaedra asked, sounding desperate even to her own ears. “You think we can stop the collision from happening?”
Psander shrugged. “Maybe. In any case, it seems wise to try.”
“So what will I be doing?”
“Sealing gateways,” Psander said. “I have come to believe that the gateways between the worlds are not only areas of thinner mesh but in fact points of connection, tethers that keep the worlds from drifting apart. The new one between my hall and Tarphae seems to have thrown off the balance, but presumably sealing some of the other gates will have an effect similar to cutting loose a mooring line – the distance between the worlds should grow with each severance until eventually the system b
ecomes stable again.
“This newest connection will be the strongest, of course, built as it is on the Yarek’s power. It may take the severing of many gates to make up for the one new one. But to cut the connection at my hall would be to cede all power over interworld travel to the elves, and I am unwilling to do that – besides which, a severance may be a good deal more difficult to accomplish here than elsewhere. In any case, my preference is to sever the connections at the other gateways instead, releasing some of the tension while leaving me in possession of the only active gate.
“The flaw in this plan, of course, is that I’m still afraid to leave my house. I may be safer here than in my previous location, but I cannot afford to meet any elves without the protection of my walls and wards. Your presence solves this problem. If you could go back and seal the gateways from the other side, it would put both of us at lower risk without lessening our effectiveness. That is my hope, anyway.”
Her words were heartening. As long as they had a plan, Phaedra felt she could move mountains. “How do I seal a gate?” she asked.
“That’s the bad news,” Psander said, gesturing to the walls of books that surrounded them. “Your guess is as good as mine. Nobody’s ever attempted to close a fairy gateway before – I’m proud enough for having learned how to open one. It is up to you to answer your own question if you can, and in the meantime I will study Olimande to determine if and how an elf can die.”
“Wait!” Phaedra cried, realizing that her mentor was about to leave. “Can you at least point me to the right shelf?”
Psander thought for a moment, but then she shook her head. “The answer itself is in none of my books – as I said, to my knowledge nobody has done anything like this before. The hope is that you will find something tangentially useful in this library, and use it to develop a spell of your own. I cannot tell you where this inspiration lies – if I could, I’d have done it myself. If it were me, I might start with accounts of the War of the Heavens, since that was the last time the mesh underwent significant changes. But that is only a thought.”
