The Summon Stone

by Ian Irvine

  Wistan’s laughter was a crow choking on an over-large frog. “You hate my guts.”

  Llian considered the matter. “Time heals.” He studied his glass, which was empty. “And the wine has a mellowing influence.”

  “Bufo, that’s a hint to top his glass up.”

  It had not been, but Llian wasn’t going to complain. Bufo filled it generously.

  “The college made me what I am,” said Llian. “I could not see it ruined.”

  “Even at the cost of ruining your career and failing your family?”

  “If Thandiwe became master, I felt the college’s ruin was certain.”

  “What about your quest to find the summon stone and destroy it?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “A skeet came from Shand, asking me to aid you.”

  “I need access to the secret archives.”

  “You’ll have it in the morning.” Wistan studied his glass. “I’ve often regretted banning you, you know. We’ve become too safe, too pedestrian, too rule-bound. No wonder yours is the only Great Tale in hundreds of years. We need to take risks and make allowances, don’t we, Bufo?”

  Bufo sipped his wine dreamily. “I just guard the gates, Master.”

  “You’ve had nine and a half years to reconsider,” said Llian frostily. “I wrote to you many times after the seven years was up.”

  “The Master of the College can impose a ban,” said Wistan, “but it takes a two-thirds majority of the staff to lift it. Over a third of the masters have always opposed it. Including Thandiwe.”

  “Thandiwe blocked me?” said Llian, stunned.

  “Every time it came up.”

  This was a punch in the face. “For years she’s promised to lift the ban if she ever took your place.”

  “She might have, once she had what she wanted so desperately. Until then the ban was a lever she could use to gain your support. But it lost her mine. I’d been going to make her master after me… until I realised she was betraying you.”

  “And she accuses me of betraying her.” Llian gulped down half a glass. “The deceitful cow!”

  “At least you know who your friends are,” said Bufo, leaning back in his chair and crossing his long legs.

  “As do I,” said Wistan. “That’s why I’m planning to put a new candidate into the ring at the election tomorrow. You, Llian.”

  Llian choked. Had Wistan been a joking man it would have been the best joke in the world, but Llian could not remember him ever cracking a smile. The other possibility was that he had gone insane, though there was no sign of that either.

  “Having weighed the evidence,” said Wistan after a long pause, “you’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that I’m in earnest.”

  “I… don’t know what to say. Master of the College. Me?”

  “Absurd, isn’t it? And you’d still have to win the vote. But after the fracas earlier tonight, and with my support, you’ll certainly be the leading candidate.”

  “But you hate me.”

  Wistan sighed. “I’ve never hated you, though you were exceedingly troublesome. The old forget that they were once young and bold – or if they weren’t, that they would have liked to be. Both have their place: the old must ensure that the best of the past is preserved, while it’s the job of the young to get rid of all that’s useless and outdated. But when the balance goes too far one way or the other…

  “You were the kind of student, and are the kind of chronicler, that we should be desperate to encourage. I’ve been master far too long; I allowed the college to become as fixed in its ways as I am in mine. It needs a new master who isn’t afraid to prune the dead wood. Will you accept my nomination?”

  Master! Llian was in a daze. He would have all the knowledge of the world at his disposal and plenty of coin – both would make his quest a hundred times easier, and much quicker. But what would Karan think? Well, she had told him to do whatever it took. For the first time since Sulien’s initial nightmare, he felt hopeful.

  “Yes,” said Llian. “I will.”

  “Then I have something to show you. My dirt book – my notes on hundreds of the most powerful and important people in the west.”

  “What do you use it for?”

  “Mainly to extort small sums for the maintenance and improvement of the college – I too am corrupt in my own small way. But this isn’t the only weapon the master has. The college has many secrets… and a number of powers to protect our treasures.”

  “I don’t know enough about the Secret Art to blow out a candle flame.”

  “Nor did the majority of the seventy-three masters before me. Those who can use the art do so; for those who can’t, there are variety of devices that a non-adept can wield. There’s another book about that. I’ll show you another time. Bufo, my dirt book.”

  Bufo put a small brown-covered book in Wistan’s shaking claw. He passed it to Llian.

  “I thought it would be bigger,” said Llian.

  “The pages are rice paper,” said Wistan, “and I write in a small hand. It suffices for the six hundred and seventy people I have information on. Don’t look at it now; take it with you. Bufo will burn an identical book and dispose of the ashes in such a way that he’ll be seen. Guard it with your life. When you’re alone, you’ll get a good deal of amusement from my pen portraits of our allies. I particularly refer you to the entry on yourself, though it’s… a trifle out of date.” Wistan almost smiled, but his facial muscles could not pull it off. “Go. I’ll see you at the election, which is at two in the afternoon, sharp.”

  He extended his hand. Llian shook it. It was a collection of cold dry bones. “Thank you, Master.”

  “Thank you. The lack of a worthy successor is the only reason I’ve hung on so long.” He hesitated. “What will you do first, as master?”

  “Find the summon stone and destroy it. Until we’re safe from the Merdrun, there’s no point thinking about anything else.”

  Wistan nodded and closed his eyes.

  Llian put on his coat, settled the dirt book deep in his pocket and went out. He was surprised to see that the sun was up. It was after seven, and he had promised to wish Wilm well in the test. He ran all the way to their rooming house but Wilm had gone half an hour ago.

  Llian hid the dirt book under his mattress. No, too obvious. He pulled the mattress out, made a slit in the far corner and slipped the book an arm’s length into the mouldy straw. Then he lay down fully dressed, but the long day and the sleepless night, the wine and all the dramas caught up with him.

  He did not wake until the great clock in the market square tolled twelve, midday.

  28

  A DAMNED LIE

  When Llian arrived at the chamber where the election was to be held, at half-past one, a third of the masters were already there. The door attendant, a small man greatly scarred about the face, checked his credentials, took his bag and put it in one of the storage compartments, and let him in.

  Wistan was in his wheeled chair at the rear of the dais, enveloped in his charcoal-coloured blankets. Llian went across but he was sound asleep. Hardly surprising; he too had had a sleepless night. There was no sign of Thandiwe, Basible Norp or Candela Twism. Presumably they were doing last-minute campaigning.

  He looked around, feeling more than a little uncomfortable, for most of the masters were watching him. Perhaps they were wondering how he dared show his face after the scene at Thandiwe’s house last night. Llian knew many of them, including Master Laarni, a small dark fellow, rather loud and self-important though decent enough, and Master Cherith, plump and saggy but with an enchanting smile. They would probably support him.

  “Changed your mind, have you?” said Limmy Tuul, a hard-faced master with a black wen on his right eyelid. He was one of Thandiwe’s strongest supporters.

  “We’ll see,” said Llian.

  Candela Twism entered, walking ahead of a small coterie of masters. A solid woman, square in the body and short in the leg, with a br
oad face inclining to jowls and a mass of loose grey ringlets that quivered with every movement. If the effect was meant to be girlish, it was a failure. Llian thought she looked like an overweight merino.

  She headed his way. “Heard about Thandiwe’s party,” she said without any acknowledgement that they had not seen each other in seven years. “Are you going to vote for me?”

  “I don’t know,” Llian lied. As a candidate he would not have a vote, though no one would know he was standing until Wistan made the announcement, presumably after all the masters were here and the room was locked. “Tell me why I should.”

  “Stability, that’s my platform. The college is running nicely and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Because she was too damned lazy. Far easier to keep the systems Wistan had spent so long developing, whether they were suited to the college of today and the challenges of tomorrow or not. But she was reputed to be honest.

  “In these troubled times we need all the stability we can get,” he said obsequiously.

  She moved on. Someone touched Llian on the shoulder. He looked around, then up, to a very tall master with sun-bleached hair and weathered skin covered in dark sun spots.

  “You must be Llian,” he said. “I know you by reputation – a truly magnificent Great Tale. Basible Norp, at your service.”

  “Thank you,” said Llian. “I’ve heard you’re a master chronicler of rare talent.”

  “I’ve had a few moments. Nowhere near your league, though. Can we have a chat?”

  “It’s nearly two. The election—”

  “It’ll be ages yet. These things always take a long time to get going.”

  “Tell me why I should vote for you.”

  “To be honest,” said Norp, “I’m not sure you should.”

  “Pardon?” It was the oddest election pitch Llian had ever heard.

  “Candela stands for business as usual, and that’s no bad thing. The college has a few problems, but the students are good and its finances are in order. She wouldn’t change anything.”

  “The college also has to be adaptable, especially in times like ours.”

  “True, true.” His eyes widened; he was looking over Llian’s shoulder.

  Thandiwe had made her entrance, wearing a spectacular peach-coloured gown she must have been sewn into, for it revealed every luxuriant contour. When she saw Llian, her glare could have burned the heart out of an obsidian sphinx.

  “Thandiwe’s brilliant,” said Norp. “Strong and a creative thinker. She would adapt the college to new challenges.”

  “There are one or two question marks over the direction she might take,” said Llian.

  “As you so sagely put it last night. I heard you created a sensation.”

  “All I want is what’s best for the college.”

  “As do we all. Good talking to you.”

  Norp wrung Llian’s hand and turned away without saying what he stood for or asking for his vote. Thandiwe stalked across. Llian braced himself, suddenly exhausted. He wasn’t sure he was in a fit state to deal with her – or her fury when his own candidature was announced.

  “How dare you come here, you bastard, after what you did to me last night.”

  “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart and want to vote for you after all.”

  She gave a small involuntary jerk, as if she was desperately hoping he would. “You haven’t changed your mind. You’re up to something. Who are you conspiring with? Certainly not Candela. So it’s Norp. Well, don’t be fooled by his Who, me? manner. He’s as cunning as they come and he can’t be trusted any more than you can!”

  “Or you,” said Llian softly, so she had to strain forward to hear.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You’ve voted against overturning my ban every time it’s been raised.”

  She paled. “That’s a damned lie. I’ve always been your biggest supporter.”

  “It came from the most reliable source of all.”

  “Wistan?” she said incredulously.

  He smiled thinly. “All this time you’ve been pretending to be my friend, yet supporting the ban so you could manipulate me when you needed my vote. I can’t think what I ever saw in you.”

  “I know exactly what I saw in you,” she hissed. “A treacherous snake. I’m going to destroy you, Llian. For the next thousand years, whenever anyone hears your name, it’ll be Llian the Liar, the Cheat, the Perverter of the Great Tales.”

  He recoiled, shocked by her venom, but she was already stalking away. His heart leaped about in his chest. She would do it too.

  A bell rang on the far side of the room. A uniformed aide went to the centre of the dais.

  “The masters are all present and the doors have been locked. These are the candidates.” He unrolled a sheet of paper and held it up in front of him. Llian’s heart started to pound. What would Thandiwe do when Wistan nominated him? Her explosion would blow the roof off.

  “Thandiwe Moorn. Basible Norp. Candela Twism.” He frowned and turned towards Wistan, who was still swathed in his blankets but now awake. Llian could see the lamplight reflecting off his bulging eyes. “Are there any additional candidates?”

  Wistan said nothing.

  “Are there any additional candidates?” the aide repeated.

  Why didn’t Wistan speak? Had last night been a last twist of the knife by a malicious little man who never forgave or forgot? Llian struggled to believe it; he was good at reading people and everything Wistan had said rung true. Besides, Llian had the dirt book.

  “Are there any additional candidates?” said the aide for the third time. “No? Then the voting will commence. Master Wistan has already indicated in writing that he does not intend to vote.”

  It had to be malice. Llian could see Wistan’s eyes glittering. He was irrevocably ruined.

  The three candidates took their places on the dais, Thandiwe on the left, Candela Twism in the middle and Basible Norp on the right. Now came the choice Llian had not expected to have to make. The masters were lining up before the candidates. Who to choose?

  He could hardly vote for Thandiwe after the way he had denounced her last night and her years-long betrayal. He could not bring himself to vote for Candela, which only left Norp, the self-effacing but undoubtedly brilliant chronicler.

  As Llian lined up in front of him, Thandiwe shook with rage.

  The numbers were counted and the aide announced them. “There are fifty-seven voters. Twenty-nine votes are needed for a majority. Twism, eleven votes. Norp, twenty-two votes. Moorn, twenty-four votes. As there is no majority, Twism is eliminated.”

  Candela Twism looked around, smiled vaguely and ambled away.

  “Second round,” said the aide. “Vote for your candidates. There are fifty-eight voters this time, thirty votes needed for a majority.”

  The lines of masters ebbed and flowed. Some remained in front of Thandiwe, and some in front of Norp, but a surprising number changed position. Again Llian was put to the choice. It occurred to him that he knew remarkably little about Norp. Still, how bad could a man be who refused to blow his own trumpet?

  The lines were almost complete and about the same length. He caught a pleading look in Thandiwe’s eye. Was he wrong about her? She was one of the strongest people he knew; she might be able to resist Anjo. And since Wistan had betrayed Llian, maybe what he’d said about Thandiwe had been a lie.

  Who was it to be, the known or the unknown? He had to rely on his judgement. He took a deep breath, turned away from Thandiwe and went to the back of Basible Norp’s line.

  The numbers were counted. “Thandiwe Moorn, twenty-eight votes,” said the aide. “Basible Norp, thirty votes. Basible Norp will become the seventy-fifth Master of the College of the Histories on the death, retirement or incapacity of Master Wistan.”

  Wistan was still staring at them. He had not moved; what was the matter with him? Had he had a stroke?

  “You bastard!” Thandiwe shrieked. “You�
��ve utterly ruined me!”

  She leaped off the dais, her peach-coloured sash trailing behind her and her white teeth bared. When she hit the floor, the high heel snapped off her left sandal. She kicked it off and launched herself at Llian, who could not get out of the way in time. A small fist caught him in the eye; he teetered and went down with her on top of him, punching and clawing and using her knees and elbows. His eye was starting to swell and he could hardly see. He tried to push her off but her satin gown tore at the left shoulder.

  Thandiwe drove her forehead at his face, striking his right cheekbone so hard that it dazed him. She was lunging at him again when someone caught her from behind and dragged her off. The skin-tight gown ripped down to her waist.

  Basible Norp had her by the upper arms. She lunged again but he was too big, his grip too strong. “Enough,” he said quietly. “It’s over.”

  “This betrayal rivals anything in the Histories,” she said in a cracked voice.

  Llian was trembling violently and unable to speak. He had only one hope left – that Norp would be grateful and lift the ban. He seemed a reasonable man.

  Thandiwe shook herself free and staggered away, trying to pull her gown up onto one amber shoulder, then the other, but the satin was shredded. She slumped onto a chair and wept.

  With a mighty effort, Llian pushed himself upright. Either he was swaying or the room was tilting back and forth. Blood flooded from his nose, his chin burned where she had clawed strips down it, his right cheek throbbed mercilessly and his eye was swelling. Everyone in the room was staring at him, and clearly most did see it as a betrayal.

  Everyone except the aide, who was running towards Wistan. “Master?” he cried.

  Wistan’s head had slid sideways; he must be badly ill. The aide whispered to him. Llian pushed through the throng and heaved himself up onto the dais. It took a mighty effort; he felt like an old man.

  “Attendant!” yelled the aide. “Call for a healer.” He reached out towards Wistan but drew back as if afraid to touch the great man.

  The scar-faced attendant came lurching across the room. Judging by his gait, there was something badly wrong with his legs. He stared at Wistan for a moment, then pulled the blankets away. They hit the floor with a sodden sound and a trail of red. The blankets were saturated with blood, and so were Wistan’s clothes and the seat of his chair.