The Best of Men - an epic fantasy (Song of Ages Book 1)

by Wilf Jones

  Well almost. There was that inexplicable mix-up on Tumboll to account for. The Necromancer hadn’t explained himself. Surely the plan was to keep Tumboll a secret for as long as possible, so why bring Partians to the island in the first place? And then to let them escape! For all his airs of nobility and wisdom the man was a fool – but at least he did his job.

  But what about Zaras? No great loss of course – he was hardly the most successful of spies – and yet he was their Master’s favourite. He would soon be wanting an account of what had happened and why, and he would want to know who was responsible. Someone powerful, certainly. Zaras was no easy target, and he wouldn’t have jumped unless he was under severe pressure. If there hadn’t been firm news that Seama Beltomé was hiding-up in his rooms on Errensea then… Hmm, Not satisfactory! Firm news that someone is hiding unseen is not as good as a sighting. Uh Bib frowned. The affair in the stable was a little on the brutal side for the great wizard but perhaps he ought to speak to his people in the College, just to be sure.

  They’d brought Zaras’ body down to Astoril only yesterday, and Franner with him. Both had taken a blade to the neck and the other, Creel, had been seen running away some time before they’d been discovered. Uh Bib wondered momentarily whether Creel might not have done the deed himself but then spurned the idea. Creel taking on Zaras? Ridiculous. But then again… Well why not? The irony of the matter had been playing on his mind: one corpse with not a flicker of a soul left in it and the other with a personality blazing and screaming for life despite the deadly blade and the fact that he’d already started to decay. It would have been no surprise if Zaras had been the latter, but intead it was Franner. Uh Bib used a form of Nepenthe to see if he could reanimate the torturer but so far there had been no sign. Still, Nepenthe and the Blood were ever slow to act.

  So the question remained: where was Zaras? Not in his old, cold body, that was plain. Perhaps it was with Creel that Zaras had escaped. Uh Bib giggled. Fancy, he thought, vain Zaras, with a whole world to choose from, ending up with that scrawny, twitchy, smelly little specimen. The justice of it is too sweet. Sometimes uh Bib found life extremely entertaining. Zaras would have to be found, he decided, but perhaps there was no real hurry. Other matters were pressing. He looked down at the glass in his hand, admiring the way the crystal captured the light and made the wine seem as golden as the sun.

  ‘Well Sirl, my dear King,’ he said, ‘time for your medicinal draught, I think.’ He savoured one last drop of nectar, and then placed the glass on a silver tray. Before rising he slipped-on his discarded shoes, the ones with the curly toes, and dusted the crumbs from his star-signed black robe.

  He walked over to where the pool was still and looked at his reflection. Hair black, complexion healthy, whiskers exact. Satisfied with his demeanour he left the garden smiling. He began to whistle a gay tune as he went. Yes, everything in the garden was fine.

  Southern Gothery 3057.8.6

  Her mind was open to him: the full trauma of the past two weeks indelibly printed there, ready to read. The failure to land on Tumboll; the agony of the icy water and the panic and death of Bayling; the mysterious appearance of the seals. They were a miracle. He had never heard of anything like it. It seemed clear that both horse and mule would have drowned too, hampered as they were by the corpse of the other, except that the river-seals had come to buoy them up and push them at last onto the sand bar. Through Bellus’s eyes he saw but could hardly believe. And there was more to come. For Seama the most incredible part of their adventure came after the escape from the driftsman. The two had first made their way north while Seama was in northern Gothery, then west as the wizard rode into Aegarde, and then veered south-west to meet him at the battle of Moreda. What Seama could not picture or understand was how Bellus had known where to go. Her Master, a wizard of the highest repute hadn’t even known his family was still alive! Bellus had no magic, that was certain, and the Mule was, well, the Mule. Someone or something must have helped them.

  Now, joyously reunited, Bellus and her master hurtled through a countryside vibrant before them but sickening after. Reading Bellus’ mind as they rode was a minor work of magic, but the incessant one word chant, following the pattern of his breathing, was decidely major and far reaching in its effects. Bellus had arrived at the battle willing but exhausted and now Seama asked her, commanded her to ride harder and longer than ever a horse had ridden. She used a borrowed strength. Seama provided the energy by taking a little of the life-force of everything they passed. It was a dangerous thing to do, lethal even for those whose life was nearly spent anyway, but what else could he do? If he stole a few hours from a dying man to save a country from dying, wasn’t that right? Seama had no doubts. The emergency demanded drastic measures. He needed the energy to get to Astoril and he would need more, much more, to do battle when he got there. While the smallest advantage might win the day, he had to prepare for fireworks. At least uh-Bib wouldn’t be expecting him.

  At least Seama presumed uh-Bib was not expecting him. The fat man said that the spechan stone was on a chain hanging from Chaldonie’s burnt neck, now likely to have been cracked by the heat. Would Chaldonie have realized his danger early enough to have made contact. It was unlikely: Seama was sure the sorcerer had expected to win the fight.

  Seama cursed himself as a fool. He should have guessed. Tarangananda uh-Bib, the Blissful One, as he had styled himself all those years ago and now of course returned as Doctor Bliss. How had he missed that? There was a time, thirty years gone, when those smiling features were well respected in Errensea. So well respected, in fact, that uh-Bib had almost come to rule the Council. Taken in by his foreign charm, eight of the ten members of the High Council were preparing to make the ‘Randalan Tap Rod. Seama had been travelling at the time of the intended coup, and if it hadn’t been for the True Sight of Holander, who could never be fooled by any type of deceit, the deed would have been done before Seama knew anything about it. They realized afterwards that uh Bib’s attempt had been planned from the first day he set foot on Errensea, and at that time even Seama considered him a friendly and talented student eager for knowledge to take back to Sullinor. How he’d managed to provoke the dispute between two Aegardean wizards, renowned for their commonsense, Seama never really found out, but it was a perfect ruse to draw the strongest wizard of the continent to the remote Bulidzhan Peninsula, a thousand miles from Errensea. But such a machination was trivial in comparison with the present debacle.

  Knowing that uh-Bib was responsible for the actions of the Black Company, and for the state of disorder in Gothery, raised more questions than it answered. They flooded into Seama’s mind. What was the connection with Zaras? Was uh-Bib the source of the spell that blighted Ayer? How did the episode on Tumboll fit in? Was he also co-ordinating the strange events in the Norberry Part? Questions with no answers unless he could squeeze them from those maddening, grinning lips. And that wasn’t going to be at all easy. But one question concerned him above over all others. He knew that uh-Bib was a mercenary – even the attempt to subdue the Council was apparently the first move in a planned invasion by the Emp Radis, the ar’Andalan tyrant; an invasion that could not happen after uh-Bib had to flee the Islands harried by the whole council with Seama in the lead – so the question that hung over Seama’s thoughts was simple: who was paying the Blissful One this time? If it was, as Seama had already decided, the ‘Evil beyond the Mountains’, how on Ea’ had this contract begun.

  Astoril 3057.8.6

  Seama’s quarry wriggled his large backside into a more comfortable position on the Gotherian throne. He had so confounded the court that the desecration went largely unnoticed, and certainly without challenge. The country was his. He had no special reason for choosing to sit there: he had no decrees to make, no petitioners to impress. He did it because he could, and revelled in his wickedness.

  Tarangananda uh-Bib examined his pudgy hand
s, cleaned his fingernails with a sliver of a knife. An observer could be forgiven for thinking that the man on the throne was idle, but like many men and women of intelligence the outward display of indolence masked an industrious mind. His calculating brain was presently revisting all the areas of concern that he’d been through earlier in the day. Something, he was sure, wasn’t exactly right.

  Perhaps it was the affair on the island. Ever since the message saying that the Necromancer had lost his prisoners and Tumboll was on fire he had been suspicious. The news had come from his witch, of course, but since then there had been nothing on the matter from any of them. The Necromancer was most likely sulking, but what if there was more to it. There’d not been a word from the General either since he’d returned to the Partian mainland. They were all busy, he knew that full well, busy following his plans, but it just wasn’t good enough.

  Uh Bib assumed that the prisoners had been something to do with Anparas. He had to admit it had been a worrying few days when he thought that Mador was sending troops into Gothery, but in the end they actually went north from Riverport, mostly by land with a lot of supplies shipped to Coldharbour. A Partian army in Gothery too soon could have been risky. Of course he had contingency plans. Three of General Alling’s marshalls, much against their will, and without reference to their commander, had been preparing for an invasion, their divisions marching across the plateau toward Banya’s Harbour. He called them all back when he got news of Mador’s change of heart. And back they came. Marching them here, marching them there.

  A giggle burst from uh-Bib’s fat lips. They all had to do his bidding whatever they thought of him. He found that most amusing. And not only these Gotherian fools. Even among his allies his was the whip hand.

  The Kumites had been jealous of his authority from the first. That their Master favoured him, a powerful outsider who knew nothing of their suffering, came close to rousing their fury, except they couldn’t quite manage fury. The Necromancer, on the other hand, simply thought himself above it all: dragged into the conflict only by Uh Bib’s machinations and by fear of The God. He was desperate for a way out. As he had been these five hundred years. And Zaras, so self-confident, so powerful in his own right and so proud of his finery and intelligence, well Zaras hated him for his virility. Like all the rest he was just dead and stinking meat. But no matter their disdain or hatred, obey they must. Or they could choose to argue the case with their Master. And He wasn’t too keen on dissent.

  There was, of course Acchulpa, in the mix. He’d be foolish to think she was in the least concerned with following orders: she had her own agenda. He expected no reports of progress, no interest in his plans. Manipulation was the key to Acchulpa. She was greed incarnate. Acchulpa wanted to eat the world. In her philosophy whatever she consumed made her stronger. Her desire was to take up the power of all the souls she destroyed. Uh Bib had simply suggested that Kings must have very great souls indeed. He didn’t know exactly where she was just now, but he had no doubt that she was making her way, one bloody mile after another, across the Partian heartlands.

  Uh-Bib tapped his fingers arhythmically on the arm of the throne, and he nibbled at the thin end of his thin moustache. What was it? His review of the situation revealed irritations but overall everything was working well. So what was it that made him feel so uneasy? Perhaps it was because the agent he’d been expecting from Garassa was late. He hated impunctuality: it was impolite, it was sloppy and it caused problems.

  The wizard watched silently as the late afternoon shadows tracked across the floor of the hall. An hour had passed since he had come to sit on the throne and his backside was numb. If the agent didn’t arrive soon, Tarangananda decided, he would go for his dinner. The thought of food usually cheered him and he scratched his belly as he contemplated roast beef. But as he scratched, his hand tagged on the green stone that hung by a fine chain on his breast.

  ‘And that’s another thing,’ he said out loud to the empty hall, ‘it’s about time Chaldonie made his report.’ He slapped, rather weakly, at his chair arm, somewhat annoyed. Things seemed to be coming unstuck.

  The Lyndons 3057.8.5

  ‘It’s come loose, Evie, just a rope and no bucket.’

  ‘Never!’ Evie shook her head in despair. ‘Is there nothing right with this place now? Things just get from bad to worse.’

  ‘That’s life for you,’ agreed Daisy happily, ‘Some of the time you think everything’s come alright and you’ve got everything sorted and then next day it’s all gone bad again. We’re here to suffer Evie, that’s all I know.’

  Evie frowned. She wasn’t sure she was as pessimistic as all that but she did know that expecting things to stay the same was daft. Look at the Lyndons.

  Ten years ago with the mistress still alive and old Gerald still a force to be reckoned with, and Isolde running them all ragged but filling the place with her friends and with their laughter, life had been just about as perfect as it could be. Evie had taken over as cook when old Hebe had retired and Jeb, her lovely Jeb, was made up too and given responsibility for managing the estate. They ran the house and the farm with pride and pleasure and they ran them well. She couldn’t have been happier. All gone now. Nothing, whether good or bad, lasts forever.

  But she’d never expected it to turn out like this; for things to change so quickly. Of course nothing had been perfect since Louise Robarn had died but they’d managed alright. But then with Isolde taking herself off on adventures here, there and everywhere, leaving the Master moping around by himself, well, it had put a gloom on the place. And now look at it. First ‘our Izzy’ getting attacked and then Jeb and the Master acting so strange when they’d been up to the place it happened, and all those militia men tramping about as though they knew what they were doing. She’d more or less begged Jeb to stay with her, what with some monster on the loose, but he wouldn’t have it. Said it was all to do with duty; said he had to go off to Ayer with the Master and that was that. And that’s all he’d said. Her eyes filled with the memory of it.

  ‘Never you mind, Evie. Don’t you listen to me and my daft notions. Me mam’s always telling me I need to be a bit more cheerful, and I know she’s right.’

  Evie blinked the tears away. ‘Nay, it’s not you lass. It’s just everything’s getting on top of me.‘

  ‘Well it’s a big house and no mistake if you’re on your own. You want to get someone in to help you. Roddy’s left, you say?’

  ‘Without a by-your-leave. Run out on his girl too, or so I’m told.’

  ‘I’d never have believed it. But you never can tell with people.’

  Evie smiled. ‘You never can tell. But anyway, I’m glad I can rely on you. It’s been a few years since I last pulled water. Here, let’s get another bucket on it.’

  She was a good lass, young Daisy, even if she did have an odd view of the world.

  ‘Honestly Evie, you want to get Arthur from the Rose to send someone over. You want that pump looking at if something’s blocked it up. You can’t come out to this well everytime you need water.’

  ‘That I can’t, not with my back. That’s why I waited for you to come. Knew you’d be early.’

  ‘Course I would: I’ll not have you waiting for the milk all day before you get a cuppa.’

  The cook sighed. ‘Time was when we sorted our own milk, Daze. You don’t mind giving me a hand do you, lass?’

  ‘Mind? Me? No love, I draw water every day at home – there’s no pump in our kitchen. Now then, let’s see. That knot should do it.’

  Daisy, the milk lass, lifted the catch on the handle, let the bucket drop into the well and waited for the splash.

  ‘Getting a bit rusty that catch,’ she said, but then leaned over to look down the well.

  The splash hadn’t been right. Daisy gave the rope a wiggle to make sure the bucket wasn’t caught on anything. She g
rinned and nodded to Evie when she felt it pull a bit tighter as it filled with water. She took hold of the handle and, with a practiced motion, began to wind it up.

  ‘You going to swing it out for me, Evie, when it comes?’

  ‘That I will lass, if you’ll carry the bucket back to the kitchen with me.’

  Up it came. Evie pulled the bucket over to the edge of the well and as she did so it caught on the lip and tipped a little.

  ‘Steady Evie, I don’t want t’have to draw it again. Evie?’

  Evie had started to scream. The bucket fell from the wall and a swollen, maggoty head rolled onto the grass at their feet.

  Evie clutched at her chest, her breath taken by shock and sudden grief.

  ‘It can’t be,’ she gasped, ‘It can’t be!’ They were all the words she could manage as Daisy dragged her away.

  LIBERATION

  Moreda 3057.8.6

  Getting up from the mushy ground, Angren shook his body like a wet dog but with less effect: he remained unpleasantly soggy. His muscles felt leaden, but most likely from lying still in cold mud for thirty minutes than for any more mysterious reason. His energy had returned and he was as bemused by its return as by its previous departure. Looking about he saw more signs of life amid the dreadful scene of death. Angren tried to ignore for now the scores of corpses and went to speak with the living.

  Lord Gumb, rehorsed after the strange weakness they had all suffered, cantered his steed to Angren’s side as he walked towards the largest group of survivors.