The Summon Stone

by Ian Irvine

  “Such as Cumulus Snoat.”

  Her beady eyes flickered. “An unscrupulous master could also double the fees or sell passes, honours and masterships to the highest bidder.”

  “But that would ruin the college!” he cried.

  “Which you and I and old Wistan love. The master and her cronies would bleed it dry, and the college would not recover in a hundred years.”

  “The fees are already too high.” Llian told Sal about Wilm’s experience.

  “I can’t bear what those masters are doing to this place,” said Sal.

  He drank his chard in a single gulp and leaned back.

  “Have I helped with your decision?” said Sal.

  “Very much.”

  It was worse than he had thought. How could he support Thandiwe now? But what if he did not, and she became master anyway? She did not take rejection well.

  “I’m damned either way,” he said. “But thank you.” He took her small blue-veined hand and kissed it. “For everything.”

  On the way out a darker possibility occurred to him. If the new master gained Wistan’s dirt book, he or she could use it to extort fortunes from the people named in it. Or sell their secrets to criminals, blackmailers or business rivals.

  Maybe that was what Thandiwe’s banker was really after.

  25

  HOW WILL YOU PAY IT BACK?

  The scholarship examination was tomorrow and Llian could see that Wilm was panicking. He was hunched in the corner, surrounded by books on the Histories and dozens of pages of scrawled notes. He snatched up a page, read it then closed his eyes and tried to repeat it back.

  “Aarrgh!” he cried, stumbling to a halt after a few sentences.

  He flung the page down and grabbed another, with the same result. He was sweating and his eyes were shiny, and he was breathing so rapidly that Llian would not have been surprised had he passed out.

  “I can’t do it!” Wilm’s voice cracked. “I’ve really tried, Llian, but the words won’t stay in my mind. A master chronicler has to be able to read a thing twice, then remember it perfectly. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Llian. “But I had sixteen years of training.”

  “I’m going to fail. They’ll laugh me off the stage.”

  “The examiners are professionals; they wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. And you certainly won’t be the worst they’ve seen. Why, I remember—”

  It was the wrong thing to say. “I won’t win though, will I? I’ve got to win, Llian!”

  All Llian’s coaching since they had left Casyme, and all his carefully reasoned arguments, had been forgotten. Wilm had reverted to the terrified rustic he’d been when they met. Llian felt for the lad, but he did not see what anyone could do about it.

  He sat on his bed. “Have there been any messages for me?”

  “What?” said Wilm. “Oh yes. Three. All from Thandiwe.” He waved a hand at the grubby pillow on Llian’s bed.

  He lifted the pillow and found three envelopes. Llian broke the seals and read them one by one. They were increasingly urgent versions of the same message.

  Where are you? The vote is TOMORROW! I’ve told everyone that you’re supporting me but you’ve got to CONFIRM it to all my other supporters IN PERSON. Come and see me as soon as you get this. DON’T let me down, Llian. I’m a good friend but a BAD ENEMY.

  The enemy part he understood. The friend he was still in two minds about, and the threat was as clear as a diamond. He showed Wilm the final note. They had already discussed Llian’s dilemma. He saw it as a contribution to the lad’s education.

  “What am I going to do, Wilm?”

  “You’ll do the right thing. You would never do anything else.”

  If only he knew how many times Llian had done the wrong thing, and known he was doing it.

  “But what is the right thing? Thandiwe is clever and hard-working and decisive; she’s good with people, knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to make hard decisions. She could make a fine Master.”

  “But is she honest?” said Wilm.

  “I don’t know that she’s dishonest.”

  “Will she do her best for the college – or will she be out for what she can get?”

  Llian shrugged. “But if I turn her down and she becomes master anyway, she could destroy me.”

  “If that’s the kind of person she is, you shouldn’t be voting for her.”

  “What if I turn her down and someone really bad becomes master?”

  Wilm was breathing heavily again. Llian wasn’t sure his own dilemma was helping. Or maybe it was – inner torment featured heavily in the Great Tales.

  “And there’s another thing, maybe the most important of all,” he added.

  “How could anything be more important than saving the college?” said Wilm.

  “What if doing the right thing by the college means doing the wrong thing by my family?” said Llian. “With war coming—”

  “Family always comes first,” said Wilm.

  “So you think I should support Thandiwe?”

  Wilm leaped up, roaring, “I don’t know and I don’t care! I can’t think. I can’t do this!” He threw himself face down on his bed. “I’ll have to creep home and work in that stinking tannery for the rest of my life. And Aviel, my only friend, won’t want to know me because you can never wash the stink off.”

  It shocked Llian out of his self-obsession. What a thoughtless oaf he’d been, laying his burden on Wilm when he most needed calm and quiet.

  “I’m sorry, Wilm. You asked me for advice the other day and I didn’t give it to you, but now I will. You’ve come too far to turn back. Finish your studying and have an early night, then go to the scholarship test in the morning with a clear head and the knowledge that, whatever happens, you’ve done your best. That’s all your mother can ask of you, and Aviel too, and if that’s not good enough she’s not a true friend.”

  “She is a true friend!” Wilm cried. “We’ve been friends since I was four and she was two.”

  “Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?”

  Wilm sat up and rubbed furiously at his red eyes. “Thank you. I’ll never forget how you’ve put yourself out to help someone you don’t even know.”

  “Plenty of people have helped me.” Llian turned away but swung back. “I’m off to see Thandiwe, and I still don’t know what I’m going to say to her, but whatever happens it’s going to be bad. I’ll see you in the morning to wish you well.”

  As he went out, his racing heartbeat was an echo of the drumming that could ruin him. His stomach was cramping. He had never been good with confrontations, and if he refused to support Thandiwe it would be as bad as it could get. And what if she used her wiles on him again, and the drumming sounded? He had to keep her at a distance; he dared not allow himself to get too close. He rehearsed how to deal with her as he headed up the hill to her house but felt no better when he got there.

  Had he not known about her prodigious debt he would have thought she had done very well for herself. Her home was a three-storey timber extravagance in the overly ornate old Chanthed style – a profusion of turrets and cupolas with carved demons, goblins and other mythical creatures leering from every alcove.

  To support Thandiwe or let her down? Oh, to be able to work again, and know that his telling had held his audience enthralled from beginning to end. No small thing that.

  His mind was made up. He would give Thandiwe his vote and his public support. The ban would be lifted and he would search out the secret of the summon stone. He had less than six weeks.

  Llian knocked on her front door. While he waited, he worked out the numbers. There could never be any more than sixty-four masters, but three positions were currently vacant and the three candidates were not allowed to vote, though Wistan was. That left fifty-eight, counting Llian. To be elected, one master had to receive a majority of the votes, thirty or more. If no candidate received a majority, the one with the lowest numbe
r of votes was eliminated and a new round of voting began. In the event of a tie, Wistan had a casting vote.

  Thandiwe opened the door and her face lit up when she saw him. “You came! I knew you would.” She studied his face. “I do have your vote, don’t I?”

  Was he doing the right thing, or was this the most disastrous decision of his life?

  “You look troubled,” said Thandiwe.

  He stepped into a long but narrow hall with dark panelling to shoulder height and pale lining boards above that. He could hear a crowd of people talking in a room at the back. There was a small cloakroom to his left. He drew Thandiwe into it. Mistaking his intention, she extended her arms.

  “The debt,” said Llian. “How can you pay it back when the master only earns fifteen tells a year?”

  She lowered her arms. “There are other sources of income. Look, what does it matter? Your ban will be deemed unjust and you’ll be compensated. Plus you’ll have your career back, and a senior mastership.”

  “I’ve got to know, Thandiwe. In all conscience, I can’t—”

  “All right!” she hissed. “There are some ancient coins in the library, so old that no one knows where they came from. The eleventh master brought them back from a trip across the Western Ocean untold centuries ago. A private collector wants them, and they don’t belong in the library anyway, so I told him he could have them in return for funding my campaign. But that’s all. I’ve spent eighteen years of my life here, and I would never do anything to harm this place.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, I promise. Do I have your vote?”

  He nodded stiffly.

  She beamed and threw her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth, and it was not the kiss of one old friend to another. Llian pulled away, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, but she was in such a state of euphoria she did not notice.

  She led him back into the hall. “Come and meet everyone.”

  “Have you got the numbers?”

  “Counting you, I’ve got thirty-four promises – four more than I need. So even if a couple turn their coats at the last minute I’ll still be over the line.”

  Llian followed, wrestling with his conscience. The other candidates were Candela Twism, aggressively ambitious and probably honest, but lazy and of dubious intellect, and Basible Norp, a master Llian had never met. A fine chronicler, Llian had heard, but not good with people.

  Should he or shouldn’t he? Despite the loss of the old coins, Llian felt sure Thandiwe would be the best for the college. And unquestionably this was the best for Sulien, Karan and his quest to destroy the stone. So why was he still agonising?

  She led him into a large double dining room. The tall doors across the middle had been folded back and the room was crowded with people.

  “Press the flesh for a few minutes,” said Thandiwe. “I’ve got to change.”

  “I thought you were in a hurry.”

  “But you’re here now.”

  Llian moved into the room, greeting the masters by name. They were surprisingly friendly; he’d been led to believe that they disliked him and wanted the ban made permanent, but most of them complimented him on his Great Tale and a few said they looked forward to his joining them as a senior master.

  Someone pressed a drink into his hand, a delicate etched-glass goblet filled with a pale fizzing wine. He took a sip and it was delicious. He looked up, into the cold eyes of Anjo Duril.

  “You bastard,” Llian said in a low voice. “Where’s my book?”

  “I sold it to Cumulus Snoat.”

  “I bet you made a handsome profit on the deal.”

  “I paid you what I thought it was worth.”

  “Three copper grints!” Llian called him every unprintable name he could think of, and threw in a few made-up ones for good measure.

  Anjo’s cold smile tightened. “And Snoat paid me what he thought it was worth. Five hundred and fifty gold tells.”

  Thandiwe wafted by in a gown that emphasised her voluptuous figure. “I see you’ve met my most valued supporter.” She bestowed a winning smile on Anjo, who favoured her with a slightly warmer version of his glacial smile, and she continued.

  Her most valued supporter. The coincidence of amounts, five hundred and fifty gold tells, was unlikely to be any such thing.

  “So you’re Thandiwe’s banker,” said Llian. “What are your intentions?”

  “I merely serve.”

  “Serve who?”

  “Snoat has been supporting my career for more than a decade. Now it’s time to pay him back.” Anjo’s smile broadened. He was laughing at Llian.

  Llian felt a sharp pain at the base of his thumb and looked down to see a shard of etched glass embedded there – he’d crushed the bowl of his goblet. Its contents was fizzing on the floor, his blood dripping onto the puddle and turning it pink. He pulled the shard out, put the broken glass on the nearest table and wrapped a napkin around his hand.

  Duril was still grinning. Llian fought an urge to punch him in the throat. He went out. Snoat was behind Anjo Duril, and Llian knew precisely what Snoat wanted. To conquer Meldorin and plunder its treasures for his personal collection. But he was undermining the west when it most needed to be united against the Merdrun.

  “What’s the matter?” Thandiwe’s hand was on his arm.

  “Squeezed one of your goblets a bit hard. Sorry.”

  “I couldn’t give a damn about the goblets. Come on.”

  She led him back in and up to the front, onto a low dais. She grimaced at sight of his bloody hand, tossed the napkin away and knotted a fresh one over the cut. She tapped a spoon against the bowl of a goblet until it rang out.

  “Masters,” she said in a voice equally ringing. “My last supporter, but not the least. Llian of the Great Tale, the Tale of the Mirror.”

  She put down the goblet and picked up two full ones, handing one to Llian. Thandiwe raised her goblet. “To Llian and the success of my campaign to become the seventy-fifth Master of the College of the Histories.”

  Everyone raised their goblets. Llian did not.

  “Llian!” she hissed. “What’s the matter?”

  “Anjo Duril is your banker.”

  “So what?”

  “And you know who’s behind him.”

  “There’s no one behind him.”

  But Thandiwe could not meet his eyes, and this confirmed his resolve. He could not be a part of it. The price was too high.

  The assembled masters were waiting for him to say the words that would make her win certain. Anjo was at the front, smiling, and Llian wanted to smash his teeth in.

  “See Anjo Duril there?” said Llian.

  “What are you doing?” cried Thandiwe.

  He shook her off. “He put up all the money for this campaign – five hundred and fifty gold tells! How can you repay such a sum?”

  The masters were staring at him in consternation, muttering to one another and shaking their heads.

  “It’s not true,” cried Thandiwe. “It’s… not… true.”

  “There’s only one way such a sum can be repaid,” said Llian. “By plundering our beloved college – or debauching it.”

  “Anjo is a good man,” said Thandiwe desperately.

  “But Duril’s master is Cumulus Snoat,” said Llian. “Isn’t he?”

  He expected Duril to deny it, and Llian’s first hint that things were going terribly wrong came when Duril did not.

  “I owe Cumulus everything,” said Anjo, “and I’m determined to repay him.”

  “You’re saying that you’ll control the new master, and Snoat will be telling you what to do.”

  “That’s not precisely how I would describe our relationship. But the essence is correct.”

  “And we know what Snoat will do to the college,” said Llian. “He’ll plunder it, debauch it and, ultimately, destroy it.” He raised his voice. “So I won’t be giving Thandiwe my vote, and I urge you, all of you, not to give her yours eit
her.”

  “You utter bastard!” shrieked Thandiwe. She hurled herself at Llian, slapping and punching and kicking and screaming. “I’m going to utterly destroy you.” She took a deep breath, then turned to the masters, who were staring at her in shocked disbelief. “He’s a liar and a cheat. I’ve heard rumours that he faked parts of his so-called Great Tale, and if I should be elected Master of the College I’ll be doing my best to make his ban permanent.”

  She took a desperate, gasping breath, then forced a smile. “Get out!” she hissed.

  Llian wavered his way towards the front door. He had blown all hope of getting the ban overturned, for nothing! What was Karan going to say?

  The only person not upset was Anjo Duril. He was grinning like a fairground clown. The sick feeling in Llian’s stomach churned into an all-consuming dread. Had he just made the worst blunder of his life?

  Had he done exactly what Duril and Snoat wanted?

  26

  THANK YOU FOR CORRECTING ME

  Llian had promised to wish Wilm well for the test but he had not come back, and Wilm was worried. Had things gone really bad with Thandiwe? She was desperate to get the mastership; was she desperate enough to harm Llian if he turned her down?

  Wilm put on the clothes his mother had sat up late for many nights to make, working by the feeble glimmer of rush lights because they could not afford candles. He donned the dark green student’s gown and cap Llian had borrowed for him and felt a momentary pride. He was a student at the College of the Histories, even if only for the day.

  The gown was threadbare and none too clean, and had an unpleasant mouldy smell. He should have washed it. Too late now.

  Seven o’clock and Llian still had not turned up. It was a bad omen. Wilm could not wait any longer because the doors of the Great Hall, where the test was held, would be locked at eight sharp, and any student not inside by then missed out.

  He trudged down the street, going over all the facts he had tried to cram into his unwilling head over the past week. At whose behest had Shuthdar made the Golden Flute that had turned the Three Worlds upside down? Had he made it for Rulke, or Tensor the Aachim, or was it Pitlis? Why had Shuthdar stolen it, and what precisely was the Forbidding that he had brought down over the world when he destroyed it? Was the Clysm part of the Forbidding or a separate event? How many times had the great Magister Mendark renewed his own life – ten times, thirteen or twenty-two?