“Are you saying you want me to keep this secret?” Justan asked.
“I just want you to understand the importance of what I am about to tell you,” John replied. The moonlight gave his skin an otherworldly glow and as he continued, Justan could almost see the weight of the ages on the man. “When the Creator first called the prophets, the races were much smaller in number and wilder. They were constantly at war with one another and it was evident that, without guidance, some of them would not survive. The Creator decided that these people needed shepherds.
“There were four of us chosen by my master. I was given the responsibility to shepherd the race of man, with the secondary responsibility of caring for the sacred items and places in the land. Because man was the most populous and diverse race to deal with, he also gave me help in the form of the bonding wizards.
“David was given the task of shepherding the goblinoid races. They were less numerous than mankind, but aggressive and he was chosen because he was the one of us who was the most charismatic and best at diffusing anger.”
“Wait,” Justan interrupted. “Then David is the Dark Prophet?”
“He didn’t start out that way. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the Prophet said. “Matthew was the third of us chosen and his job was perhaps the most complicated. He was given responsibility over the blood magic races and the demon races. They were much smaller in number at the time, but very powerful and had the greatest potential to either grow numerous and conquer the world or die out altogether.”
“That’s a big job,” Justan observed. “Eight races for one man.”
The Prophet chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, Mathew was a very smart man and had fantastic organizational skills. I remember he came prepared that day. He had an elaborate plan for helping those races work together to form a full, well rounded society. It was a fantastic plan, by the way. I wish he had stuck to it.”
“What about the fourth prophet? What races were left?” Justan was trying to figure it out. Trolls? Giants and ogres maybe? It seemed like an unlikely pairing.
“The fourth? Well . . .” John looked uncomfortable. “She isn’t important for you to know about. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned her in the first place.”
He cleared his throat. “So the three of us went out into the known lands to fulfill our tasks. It went quite well, at first. David had the goblinoids talking. Matthew had his races working together. I was the one having the most difficulty, but this tale isn’t about me.
“The first century was a booming one for everyone. Then David started to struggle. He had found a way for the goblinoids to work together. It wasn’t perhaps the kindest solution, but they were a rough people. The problem he had was that they worked together a little too well. They took pride in who they were and sneered at the other races. They wanted to fight. They wanted to conquer. He struggled to keep them under control and they began fighting with the other races. His solution was understandable at the time, but it proved to be his ruin.”
“He became their god,” Justan realized.
“They called him the Barldag,” John said. “Which in their tongue meant, ‘Black God’. And his methods were so ruthless and terrible that the rest of the world came to know him as the Dark Prophet. The tale of his descent into that role is a long one and not what I wanted to talk about. Tonight, the discussion is about Matthew.
“Matthew held strong to his plan for a good while longer than David. The eight races were thriving under his plan. The one thing that was a constant source of frustration for them was that their races were simply incompatible.”
“Incompatible,” Justan said. “You mean they didn’t like each other.”
“No. That wasn’t the problem. They liked each other a great deal. The issue was that they were physically incompatible with each other. Unlike humans, who could have reproduced with all of the different races . . .” He frowned. “Well, except with perhaps dragons and bandhams. Just . . . the logistics of that are problematic. Anyway, the demon races and the blood magic races began to intermix anyway, pairing off, but unable to procreate outside of their individual races.
“This caused a lot of pain and divisiveness between their peoples. Their populations began to decline. Matthew, being a logically minded man, found the entire situation incredibly hard to deal with. For awhile, he outlawed interspecies pairings. This caused a revolt.”
“People will love who they love,” Justan said, thinking of Lenny and Bettie.
“Indeed,” the Prophet said. “He was forced to abandon that solution. Instead, he used his powers to increase the fertility of all his races. The result was that the females who married within their race were always pregnant. This stabilized the population issue, but caused its own problems as the regular couples and the interspecies couples resented each other.
“In the end, his solution was drastic. Matthew, tired of dealing with the emotional issues of the races in his charge, abandoned his plan altogether. He created a new plan, one which would keep all of the races under control and one which he could monitor far more easily. He split the races into six different kingdoms.”
“What about the dragons and bandhams?” Justan asked.
“I forgot to mention that,” John said. “Though their races were important and their magic crucial for balance, they were for the most part unintelligent and violent towards each other. He had sent them off into otherwise uninhabited parts of the land and had already been supervising their populations from a distance for years.”
“Oh.” Justan said. That actually made sense. He had been trying to figure out how they had fit into the equation.
The Prophet rubbed his chin. “Let’s see, where was I? Right, Matthew had split the races under his charge. At that point, he had a lot of backers among the leadership of the races. There was some clamoring and griping, but that faded after he gave all the mixed couples their own city.
“This didn’t stop all of his problems, however. People came to him with grievances daily and he began delegating more and more authority to the leaders of the different kingdoms, until one day, he abandoned his daily duties altogether and left, content to monitor them from afar. Eventually enmity between the races under his charge grew. Their societal structure broke down and the races split. The blood magic races and demon races began an ongoing cycle of hatred.”
John turned and looked in the direction of the waterfall. “This worked fine for Matthew. He was able to stop seeing them as people and start looking at them as numbers. He still does it today. For thousands of years, he has been sitting back and using his powers to monitor them from afar.”
“How does he do that?” Justan asks.
“He keeps a balance by controlling their fertility. He watches, using promptings from the master to make sure that no one race becomes too warlike. If they do so or if they try to use their powers to conquer, he decreases the fertility of their women. In extreme circumstances, he increases the fertility of their enemies and sends out a couple spies to encourage some fighting to get the offending race to heel.”
Justan grimaced. “I understand the tactical reasons behind such a system, but treating entire races like that . . . seems awfully cold.”
“It isn’t the way I would have done it,” John agreed. “So, most of the world has forgotten about Matthew. Even the races he has responsibility over have forgotten his name. They know him only as, The Stranger. As far as they are concerned, his purposes are cloaked in mystery.”
Justan rubbed his neck. Did he really want to meet this man? What purpose was this supposed to serve? “There is something about this that bothers me, John.”
The Prophet smiled. “I am not surprised. Go ahead. What is it?
“Your master, the Creator. Everything I know about him . . . he seems like a god of goodness,” Justan said hesitantly.
“He is,” John said.
“Then why does he let this go on?” Justan asked. “If the others are his servants like y
ou are, then why does he allow the Dark Prophet and this man, the Stranger, to do the things they do?”
John sighed. “When the Creator gave us these responsibilities, he told us to shepherd the races. We were given freedom to do this in whatever way we thought best. Well every shepherd has different techniques. My master is patient and for the most part lets us work these things out. He doesn’t step in unless he senses that there is no other way. The Dark Prophet abandoned his responsibilities and he was punished. As for Matthew . . . Well, that is part of the reason we are here tonight.”
* * *
“Now stay in there until they’re gone,” Matthew said, closing and latching the basement door. He wished he’d had more warning that his visitors were coming, but then promptings had been slow to come lately. His servants didn’t like being locked away.
“Will you not need our help?” the first one asked.
“Not until they’re gone,” he replied.
“But I wasn’t done, master man!” the other servant complained. “I’m still huungry!”
He slammed his fist against the door. “Keep quiet! Just . . . play cards or something. I’ll let you know when you can come out.”
“Ooh! Cards!” He could hear the two of them climb down the steps.
Matthew, known by the blood magic races and the demons as the Stranger, walked back into his parlor. He pulled the stew pot out of the coals and stacked the servants’ bowls on the mantle. Then he threw a couple logs in and stoked the fire.
Malaroo was a hot country, but living in a cave dug into the side of a hill and behind a waterfall made his home cool all year round. Matthew enjoyed the cool except for in the evenings. Then a fire was always welcome.
He looked around the parlor, making sure it was presentable. Of course it was. Matthew was an orderly man, everything in its place. From the inside, you would never know that this was a cave. The floors and walls were all solid wood, hand polished. The ceiling had been carved into a mosaic design and painted so that it looked more like tilework than rock. He also had a small table, a comfortable couch and a lounge chair.
The Stranger moved his chair so that it faced the couch and sat down, pulling out his pipe. He was fond of this place. It had been his home for several centuries now and he could think of no reasons to move. He had everything he needed. Besides his cozy parlor, he had a lavish bedroom, an extensive library, a fully stocked kitchen, and a basement larder filled with enough food and wine that he could live there for a year without ever having to leave home.
He lit his pipe and waited for the knock that would come. This was a strange evening. He didn’t often have visitors. Not many knew where he was. Yet he was positive that he was going to have two separate visitations before the night was out.
The knock came moments later. He cleared his throat. “Come in, but leave your boots inside the door!”
The knob on the door twisted and the door opened. In walked his old friend John and a young man Matthew wasn’t familiar with. He was a strapping lad, tall and muscular. Powerful. This man was a champion and well armed, obviously one of John’s bonding wizards. Snakelike ropes of spirit magic leapt from the man’s chest, flicking around the room as if looking for something. That was going to be annoying. Matthew flexed his power and the man’s magic fled back into his chest.
“Matthew!” John said, stepping into the room and extending his hand.
“Boots!” the Stranger reminded, pointing with his pipe. He waited for them to take off their boots and set them by the door before motioning them in. He clasped John’s hand. He could feel the master’s approval radiating from the man. It was grating. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand up to greet you. I have had quite a tiresome day.”
“Of course,” John said, smiling kindly. He always smiled kindly, that one. To make it worse, it was hard to hate him for it because he was genuine. John walked over to the hearth. “My, this smells good. Is it your old stew recipe?”
“It’s a constant work in progress, you know that,” Matthew replied.
John lifted the lid. “My, but that is a lot of stew for one man.”
“I like leftovers,” Matthew said.
“Did you know we were coming?” asked the young man, looking at the two bowls stacked on the mantle.
Matthew repressed a wince, wishing he had taken the time to place the bowls in the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to seem this welcoming. “Of course I knew, young uh . . .” He motioned at the man. “Show me your rune.”
The young man held out the palm of his left hand and the back of his right hand. Matthew almost dropped his pipe. A twice-named. He read the runes. “Sir Edge, is it?”
“Uh, yes sir,” the young man said.
The master’s approval shone around this one too. Thank goodness the lad wasn’t too strikingly handsome or Matthew would have hated him. As it was, he was mostly curious. “Go ahead and grab a bowl if you’re hungry.”
“Why thank you, Matthew,” John said. “We have ridden hard most of the day to get here.” He picked up the bowls and looked inside them. “These bowls seem to have been used.”
“Oh right,” Matthew said, once again wishing he had known about the visit further in advance. “I was feeling particularly peckish tonight. The kitchen’s on the right. There are clean bowls and spoons in the cupboard. Just take those two bowls in with you. Leave them in the sink.”
John smiled and nodded and walked into the kitchen. Matthew returned his gaze to the young man. Sir Edge looked around uncomfortably for a moment before saying. “I like your home. It looks . . . cozy.”
“That it is,” Matthew replied, chewing the end of his pipe in contemplation. “You can have a seat. There’s a couch right there behind you.”
“Thank you,” the man said, sitting slowly on the edge of the seat. He was probably afraid to scoot back because of all the weapons strapped across his back. “Um, nice robes.”
Matthew looked down at his finely embroidered silk robes and noticed the furry slippers peaking out from the bottom of the hem. His face colored and he tucked his feet back under the robe. He scowled. “Well, I wasn’t expecting royalty!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” the young man said. “They are just really nice robes is all.”
To edge’s relief, the Prophet re-entered the room, two bowls in his hands. “So, Matthew, did you get, uh . . .” John’s eyes flickered towards the young man. “The packages I sent you?”
“Yes I did,” Matthew replied. Interesting. So John didn’t want this Sir Edge to know about his little gift. “They have their quirks, but I must say that they are the first useful things you have sent me in a while.”
“Good,” John said with a quick smile. He returned his attention to the young man. “You are in for a treat, Edge. Matthew is a wonderful cook. He looks at it like a science, you see. He is exacting in his measurements, blending in the perfect mix of ingredients.” He ladled out some of the thick stew into a bowl and handed it out to Edge. “What’s in it, this time, Matthew?”
“Yak and potatoes,” Matthew said, narrowing his eyes. John was acting even more polite than usual this time. Matthew leaned back and took a slow draw on his pipe, watching as the young Sir Edge took a hesitant bite.
Matthew took some pleasure in the way the bonding wizard’s eyes lit up. There was something about him that was hard not to like. Matthew wondered if that was why John had brought the man along.
“I must say that this is the best yak I’ve ever eaten,” Edge said.
“Amazing!” John added. “Every bite is like pure gravy.” The young man nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, well I didn’t feel like making bread tonight. I almost . . .” Matthew grew suddenly tired of the pretense. “Why the hell are you here, John?”
The Prophet didn’t even bat an eye at his exclamation. He bit into a particularly large chunk of meat. “Well.” He chewed a couple times. “You are under condemnation.”
“You think I ha
dn’t noticed?” Matthew snapped. His powers were still working, but he hadn’t received much guidance from the Creator in decades. The end result was that he was working blind. He had a couple of spies feeding him information and he had been weighing the races’ birth rates off of that. “He’ll forgive me. He always does.”
“That’s good to know.” John chewed a couple more times and swallowed. “Does that mean you plan on changing the way you’re doing things?”
“What do you mean? I have a process. It’s worked for ages.”
“Is that so?” John said. He took another bite. “Do you know what’s going on in Alberri right now?”
“I understand there is a scuffle between the dark wizards and the government,” Matthew replied. In fact he had a strong sense that it was worse than that. He just couldn’t see it.
John snorted. “A scuffle? It is full out war. Many influential gnome scholars have been killed.” He took another bite and pointed his spoon at Matthew. “I’m beginning to fear that you have a gnome warlord on your hands.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Matthew said, letting out a nervous laugh. He thought back over how many centuries it had been since the last occurrence. He’d have to do some calculations. Maybe another one was due. “I would know.”
“I’m here to serve you a warning, Stranger,” John said, causing Matthew to wince. John never called him that. “If you don’t modify your behavior, your condemnation could become worse.”
“That never happens,” Matthew said. “I’ll take a quick trip over to Alberri and clear this up and things will return to normal again.”
“It’s not going to be that easy for you this time,” the Prophet said, his tone turning deadly serious.
“Just a minute,” Matthew said, standing up out of his chair. “That’s a threat! What are you saying? Are you planning to come back and kill me like you did David?”
A look of pain flashed across John’s features. “That was different. Your crime is slothfulness. David didn’t just shirk his duty. He tried to become a god. He was going to conquer all the known lands if I didn’t stop him.”
The Ogre Apprentice Page 41
