The Swordsman's Oath toe-2

by Juliet E. McKenna

  From the expressions around the room, I gathered traditional religious beliefs were not common among the wizardry. The girl sat down again, ducking her head and clutching a shawl to her. I realized I remembered her from a brief meeting the previous year—Allin, I recalled her name was.

  “You say this restoration is something you could attempt?” A petite woman in an expensively cut turquoise gown stood, fine-boned hands clasped together, head tilted, birdlike as she looked at Tonin. “You are not certain of your rites, as I understand it; rather you have been piecing them together from various traditions and sources of lore?”

  “I am confident that we have sufficient reason to make the attempt,” replied Tonin carefully. “I would argue that our priority should be the woman Guinalle. Her skills would then supplement our own knowledge and aid us in reviving the remaining colonists.”

  “But what if there is some flaw in your ritual, some vital piece of information missing?” persisted the elegant mage. “What will happen then? Does failure risk the irretrievable loss of this suspended mind? Are you prepared for such consequences?”

  “Ely has a point. Have all the potential sources of information been exhausted?” inquired a nearby wizard thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should wait a season or so, make sure all the knowledge available has been gathered?”

  “We have already sent word to Bremilayne,” the scholar interjected hastily, “to see what can be learned from the Shrine of Ostrin, since D’Alsennin’s tale makes such significant mention of it.”

  “What about that girl whom you still can’t revive, Mentor Tonin? What of her fate?” demanded a voice from somewhere. I saw Tonin flush miserably.

  “May I make a point?” A mage in a workaday jerkin of no significant color and buff breeches raised a hand. “If this rite requires both the body and the artifact, any discussion of whether we should do this remains entirely academic until we have located the cave in question. This discussion is irrelevant until we have some idea of where to look. Are you proposing that we cross the ocean in search of this unknown land, Archmage?”

  Planir remained seated as he looked at the wizard posing the question. “Clearly that would be essential, Herion, should the Council decide to pursue this. However, that is not such a startling proposal as it might seem. With the assistance of the House of D’Olbriot, we have found copies of the original charts made by Den Fellaemion’s early expeditions. Given we sailed deep into the ocean last year to rescue Messire D’Olbriot’s man over there from the Ice Islands, Cloud-Master Otrick is now well acquainted with the currents and wind systems prevailing in the eastern waters. Moreover, now that the tale of this colony has been uncovered, albeit in part, both Messire D’Olbriot and the Emperor Tadriol himself have expressed an interest in finding the lands in question and offered all aid at their disposal.”

  I saw the fat wizard Kalion’s eyes grow shrewd as he worked that fact into his calculations.

  A burly man of middle height stood, waving one hand in an urgent demand for attention. “In which case, we should wait until these Tormalins have made the attempt and see what they discover. What is to be gained by running such risks ourselves when for all we know these bodies may have rotted away entirely, been crushed in a rock fall, been eaten by wild beasts?”

  “Mentor Tonin tells us that the ability of the artifact to promote dreams is linked to the continued existence of the body itself!” An untidily dressed female of uncertain age sprang to her feet, her tone scornful. “As you would know had you read his submission properly, Edlow.”

  This exchange sparked a more heated debate on a wider front. The noise grew as several separate arguments raged, the flames fanned by discourtesy on all sides, from those supporting the rescue of the colonists as well as from those dismissing the whole idea.

  “What happens now?” I asked Shiv, leaning close to make myself heard over the hubbub.

  “Watch Planir,” he advised, a smile in his eyes, if not on his carefully neutral face.

  As I looked, the Archmage exchanged a few words with both Otrick and Usara and then walked swiftly to the dais in the center of the room. Silence fell and Planir swept a low bow to the assembled wizards, his back to me.

  “The wizard Viltred Sern wishes to speak. I would ask that you give his words serious consideration.” Unmistakable authority rang through the Archmage’s voice as Viltred, whom I had not even noticed sitting quietly on the far side of the room, made his way to the central dais. The old wizard was leaning on a slim cane but his color was better than I remembered it, his clothes no longer threadbare but newly made of stout gentian broadcloth. When he spoke, his voice was calm and assured, the old man seeming to gain in stature as he surveyed the gathering.

  “You are debating whether you should or should not attempt to raise the lost settlers of Kel Ar’Ayen to life again as if it were some scholarly exercise, as if you had all the time in the world to come to a decision or to do yet more research in a bid to guarantee success.”

  His faded gaze swept around the seated wizards and his voice grew more cutting.

  “Drag your heads out of your close-written scrolls and sheltered researches for a moment. Consider what is happening in the real world, even as we speak. The Archmage has told you what his agents have been reporting to him, has he not? These Men of the Ice, these Elietimm, have been appearing among the Aldabreshi since the turn of the year before last, and now we know why. They are spreading this cult, this worship of the Queen of the Dark Moon. What is their purpose? Now we know; these Elietimm are creating a reserve of aetheric power to fuel their sorcery, which grows stronger with each convert to this new cult. Do not imagine that conversions will cease; the worship of a powerful female deity will find many takers among the Aldabreshi Warlords’ women folk, whatever their other philosophies.”

  Viltred paused for a moment and shook his head. “Set aside the questions of magic for a moment; what else are these so-called priests doing? The experiences of D’Olbriot’s sworn man make it clear that these Elietimm are actively working to spread their influence in the Archipelago and shrink from little in their determination to do so; imagine the man assaulting a Warlord’s wife with complete disregard for the consequences, no less! Am I the only one concerned at the prospect of a hostile race gaining a hold over those who contribute so much to the decisions the Warlords make? Look to the future; what if holding a cult in common has the effect of unifying the domains? Where will Aldabreshin eyes turn then, if they no longer watch each other so closely?” Viltred walked around the edge of the circular dais as he spoke, his words lashing the assembled wizards.

  “Another question: what power did this priest have that gave him the confidence to ignore the might of an Aldabreshi Warlord in his very encampment? Evidently he had sufficient capabilities to remove himself bodily from peril when his sorcery failed to overcome Ryshad’s will. Let us think about that for a moment; we can all translocate ourselves if need be, but what of this dominance over the mind? This aetheric magic has facets we cannot match, however strong our own enchantments in other spheres. We know these Elietimm retain their knowledge of the old sorcery, despite having lost their original source of power. Consider the implications of what you are being told! The Elietimm have crossed the ocean again, a feat that we know requires magical aid from whatever discipline, aetheric or elemental. Quite clearly they have somehow restored themselves; they are now able to apply that knowledge and take to the open seas for the first time in twenty or more generations! They are working from a position of strength, do not doubt it.”

  The mage took a pace backward, to the center of the dais where the magelight overhead grew faintly tinted with blue under the force of his passion.

  “We are not here to debate the rights and wrongs of an erudite moral dilemma! We are facing very real dangers. These men who are even now spreading their lies among the Aldabreshi are of the same race as those who attacked and defeated the Kel Ar’Ayen settlements with savagery, madness and death
by sorcery. Read the tale that D’Olbriot’s man has brought you, of the last days of D’Alsennin and his attempts to defend those beleaguered colonists. Ask yourselves how you would counter the magics that were used if you should find them raised against Hadrumal? Remember—no matter how much we may learn about this magic of the mind and matter, we cannot use it. Not one of the weakest mage-born has been able to master the simplest cantrips of an illiterate Lescari hermit. Our magic is powerful, but I prefer to fight fire with my own fire. The finest sword in the world is little use if your enemy is using a pike or a crossbow!”

  Viltred turned and spread his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Not that these Elietimm will be interested in Hadrumal of course, not when far richer and more helpless game grazes all unsuspecting for their arrows. If these Elietimm wage war against Tormalin now, what is there to resist them? With all due respect to Mentor Tonin and his scholars, aetheric magic these days is reduced to little more than a meaningless jumble of superstition and half-remembered incantations. Our practitioners of aetheric enchantments certainly cannot meet the Elietimm on anything approaching level ground. Can we mages defeat them with our own magics? Perhaps, but I do not share Hearth-Master Kalion’s certainty. More to the point, would we be allowed to? Can anyone here seriously imagine the Emperor allowing the wizards of Hadrumal free rein with fire, flood and storm, even if it is to defend his lands? I do not see that happening before the situation is utterly desperate. How long do you think it would take these sorcerers to gain a hold on the mainland if they really want to?”

  Viltred gripped his cane in one thin hand and shook his fist at the assembled mages. “Whatever the risks, whatever the dangers of drowning ourselves in the far ocean or condemning these unfortunates trapped in enchanted sleep to madness or darkness, I tell you that we should not be debating whether we can afford to try to revive these people! Rather the question is can we afford not to, can we afford to face the threat of this Elietimm sorcery without some true knowledge of aetheric magic, without at least one person who knows these people and what they are capable of? Make no mistake, this threat is real and it is not going to go away. We know they are already covertly attacking our ability to resist them; you have all been told of their attacks on Tormalin shrines over the winter seasons. Why else would they do this, if not to destroy the last vestiges of aetheric lore remaining to us? I am here myself, forced into flight to escape torture and death at Elietimm hands, leaving them free to steal some few things from the lost colony that I recovered on my voyage with Azazir.”

  Viltred paused for a moment, struggling with an understandable desire to remind the Council of the derision that had always greeted the tales of that journey. To his credit, the old wizard rose above the urge, continuing his challenge in a harsh voice.

  “There’s another question! Ryshad’s testimony shows the extent of Elietimm interest in these artifacts from Kel Ar’Ayen, even more than my own experiences. Possessing the D’Alsennin sword was so important to this so-called priest that he was prepared to risk not only doing murder but working his enchantments in the very heart of the Archipelago, with all the dangers that entailed. How important would a quest have to be before any of you would risk the torments the Warlords reserve for the crime of magic? Ask yourselves— why do these Elietimm want these artifacts for themselves? I don’t know, but I’ll wager a pennyweight to a pack-load that it bodes ill for the colonists if we do not rescue them! In all conscience and logic, how can we do anything else?”

  The room erupted into chaos as the mages all tried to speak at once, shouting each other down with scant regard for the formalities of debate, leaping to their feet on all sides. Viltred returned to his seat and sat down, arms folded tight, breathing hard, passion burning in his fierce eyes. Planir sat on his plainly carved chair, face calm but a spark of cunning deep in his eyes. There was an alertness to his relaxed posture that reminded me of a hunting heron, ready to strike when the moment was right.

  I couldn’t see what signalled that moment but Planir suddenly sprang to his feet, a carved ebony staff appearing in his hand from the empty air. The foot of the stave came down on the flagstones with a ringing strike that silenced the chamber. As the mages stood motionless, cut off in mid-pronouncement, Planir strode to the dais.

  “Be seated. This debate has lasted long enough. We have a clear choice before us. Do we act or not? Do we take what knowledge we have and try to rescue the settlers of Kel Ar’Ayen, or do we do nothing, simply continuing our researches despite the Elietimm threat?” He struck the dais with the staff, the hollow boom echoing around the great chamber as the wizards hurried to their seats. “Those for action?”

  Mages all around the room raised their hands, some with papers clutched in them, some with staff or rods. Beams of radiance streamed from them and gathered in the center of the room, coalescing in a brilliant pattern of coruscating light, cyan, saffron and rose flickering on the very edge of sight.

  “Those against?” Planir demanded.

  The remaining wizards summoned their powers and sent tendrils of shadow into the shifting luminescence, strands of darkness weaving into the light and dimming it, softening the luster with shades of jade, vermilion and indigo. The pattern hung in the air, the colors twisting around each other in a dizzying confusion. I blinked and leaned toward Shiv, careful not to risk touching the stream of emerald light rising from his outspread hands.

  “What’s the purpose of this?”

  Shiv’s eyes did not leave the twisting and tangled rainbow above our heads. “The Council does not make its judgments on mere numbers but on the strength of will shown by those called to give judgment,” he said softly. “Watch.”

  I watched as the colors writhed and fought, casting strange reflections on the upturned faces all around the room. The shadows grew, thickened and dimmed the radiance but could not put it out, suddenly fading as color as intense as sunlight striking off gemstones burned through the darkness.

  “Enough.” Planir banged his staff a third time and the colors vanished, leaving blinding white radiance that scoured the eyes. “The decision of the Council is for action. So be it!”

  Chapter Ten

  Taken from the correspondence of Leorn Den Lirel,

  last Governor of Caladhria in the 7th year of Emperor Nemith the Reckless;

  held at the Archive of the Temple at Col

  Solstice salutations from Leorn to his brother Jahon.

  I do not know how long this letter will take to reach you but I feel sure the Imperial Despatch will still fight their way through, no matter what calamities befall the rest of us. I don’t know what reports you’ve had of the situation here, but you can take the worst and double all the figures. It’s bloody chaos and without any support from home, there’s not a thing I can do about it, so I’ve given up trying. Don’t worry, I have a ship standing by and will sail for home as soon as the fighting comes south of the Ferl River. Amille insists on celebrating Solstice here but I’m sending her and the children home immediately afterwards. The damp may have got into my library, but not into my wits! Please tell Mother to expect them anytime around the turn of Aft-Summer; we’ll have to stay with her until we can move our tenants out, so make sure you give them notice to quit as soon as you receive this.

  As I’m sure you can imagine, this is not how I had hoped my appointment would turn out, but with the Emperor withdrawing the Cohorts for his mad plan to conquer Gidesta I simply do not see how I am supposed to maintain Imperial rule here. None of the locals have paid their due taxes since Equinox and I can’t even get the records to make a fresh assessment. My officials are showing remarkable ingenuity when it comes to finding reasons for staying inside the Governor’s Compound rather than risking themselves on any of their duties in the countryside. I cannot say I blame them and I am certainly not going to send them out to battle with brigands and scavengers armed only with quill-case and inks. Most of them are spending their time drawing up highly dubious claims to supposed
ancestral lands and planning how to go about seizing them when Tormalin rule officially ends.

  I suggest you start liquidating your investments here, discreetly but rapidly; there are no profits in Caladhria anymore. It might be worth keeping an eye open for opportunities in Lescar; Governor D’Evoir’s murder will mean panic selling and there should be bargains to be had. From what I hear, the Reeves are planning to set themselves up in their old tax districts and work together to enforce their own rule. I don’t suppose they’ll be swearing allegiance to that wine-soak that calls himself Emperor these days, but frankly I don’t see why that should concern us if you see a likely chance to turn up some coin. Nemith’s idiot ambitions must have cost our House his own weight in white gold by now, and the sooner Poldrion ferries him to the Otherworld the better as far as I’m concerned. I’m planning to drop his Imperial Majesty’s statue down the privy pit when I leave.

  I nearly forgot; no, I have no idea what Den Fellaemion was up to when he sailed last. In all the confusion that surrounds us these days, I couldn’t even tell you how many years ago it was. I can’t think of anyone else who might either. I think Den Rannion was somehow involved, but the present Sieur seems very keen to hush it up, so I can only suppose it came to naught.

  The lost settlement of Kel Ar’Ayen, 42nd of Aft-Summer

  This is rather different to our little excursion last year,” I observed to Shiv as the wizards’ ship swung slowly at anchor in the broad estuary. It was a relief to be out of the gales that scythed across the open ocean and I turned to the warmth of the late summer sun, noticeably hotter here than I would expect at home this end of the season. I smiled with pleasure at the sensation of the sun on my clean-shaven face.