Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “I was under the impression that the intraspecies struggles between Alka Alon nations were long finished,” Forseti reminded me.

  “It’s a matter of scale, remember,” I answered, putting my pipe away, and rising. “When we first arrived, it was a matter of the previous generation, a few thousand years ago. But the fanatics persist. And were biding their time. Now they’re causing problems for us both. And they’re nihilistic enough to see some horrific race like the Formless as potential allies, or at least tools to be leveraged in their pursuit of power, and not appreciate the danger they pose to the rest of us. Perhaps this is all pointless speculation,” I sighed, as I pulled my cloak over my shoulders. “After all, if I screw up. we might be extinct in just a few generations. It won’t matter whether or not magic fails. Not to humanity.”

  “It would seem that your best course of action would include the re-establishment of humanity’s industrial capacity,” suggested the machine. “Reintroducing the advanced technological knowledge of the original colony could prove decisive in terms of the colony’s survival,” it encouraged. “Recovering the colonists on the New Horizon would be extraordinarily helpful.”

  “I’m looking for the Forsaken, I promise!” I said, a bit irritated at the emotionless machine. “It’s a priority. But so are a hundred other matters. The best I can do for now is to put a specialist on the case – or, at least, a generalist who can learn to specialize. I’m hiring an arcanist,” I decided. “Someone who can help aggregate all of these misty legends and inaccurate histories and pluck a thread of truth from them. Perhaps if we follow it, we can find the way to redeem our sleeping ancestors.”

  “I look forward to the effort,” agreed Forseti. “As successful as the colony has become, in objective terms, I maintain a duty to the safety and security of all colonists. Including those still in suspended animation aboard the New Horizon. If it still exists. I’m afraid that could not be established until I can fill in some of the blanks my deactivation left in my understanding of later colonial history. I urge you to explore the sites I proposed to Gareth where such information may yet be hidden.”

  “The . . . terraforming sites?” I asked, struggling with the Old Perwynese word. “I’ll see what I can do. Who knows? Maybe the distraction of exploring such a place would be pleasant, compared to fighting undead lords and goblin hordes, and worrying about my descendants thousands of years from now. Thank you, Forseti,” I said, taking my leave. “I didn’t get the answers I needed, but I feel better about my ignorance, for some reason.”

  “I am always happy to serve,” the machine assured me.

  I thought about our conversation during the long walk back to Spellmonger’s Hall. It was frustrating, going to the wisest and best-informed remnant of our ancient past and coming away with nothing useful. But it told me that I wasn’t alone in my ignorance, and that brought me some comfort.

  The truth was, I was even more frustrated that our people had been kept in the dark about so much for so long by those who were supposed to help them. As if we were ignorant children or mere pets to coddle for a few years before the world ended. It was insulting. Forseti’s perspective confirmed that for me. Humanity had been misinformed about our world when we were given a space upon its shores. I couldn’t help but feel a bit cheated.

  I reached out through the Magolith and contacted Gareth, mind-to-mind. He was in Vanador, working late, but he always had time to entertain my odd conversations.

  Gareth, I need to hire an arcanist, I informed him,

  A specialist in the obscure, he agreed. I can see how that would be helpful, I suppose. We’re trying to do a lot, here, and that might help us keep track of it all.

  My thought, exactly, I agreed. Do you know one?

  Do I? I do. And so do you, if you think about it. Heeth the Butler, he explained.

  Ah. I hadn’t thought about that. He’s been so quiet, lately . . .

  From what I understand he’s been working around the bouleuterion in Sevendor, when he’s not at his post. He’s a smart wizard, Gareth said, which was high praise from him. Not as good as Taren is, but . . . well, he is good at that sort of thing. I mentioned snails to him, once. He spoke about them for more than an hour.

  Thankfully, his experience ranges beyond the obscure lives of mollusks, I agreed. Do you think he’d consider a position, here?

  I don’t see why not – everyone wants to work for the Spellmonger, he said, seriously. He’d likely consider it a promotion from being a mere spellwarden. I like the man. But . . . he can be a little hard to deal with, sometimes, he reminded me.

  I remember, I assured. I’m used to dealing with difficult personalities. And it’s amazing how grateful a wizard can be when you give them a witchstone and a job. I think we can work with Heeth, if you think he’s the right one for the job.

  He knows more obscure crap than I thought ever existed, agreed Gareth. He’s a good thaumaturge, and he’s been studying enchantment. But I’m sure he’ll leap at the chance. I’ll get in touch with him tomorrow and see how fast he can be here. Anyone else you want me to hire?

  Duin the Destroyer and a dozen dancing girls, I mused. But I’ll settle for Heeth. Someone has to beat all of this research into submission.

  While I have your attention, Gareth said, as I was about to close our conversation, were you aware that we just received a gigantic order for timber? From Pentandra?

  No, I confessed, as I walked along the dark path. What does Penny want with timber?

  She won’t say, Gareth gossiped. But I can’t help but speculate. She’s requested . . . well, about six hundred acres worth of good hardwoods, all mage-kilned and planed. And word is that she’s ordered a substantial amount of redwood from the Kasari.

  Redwoods? I asked, surprised. Usually, the Kasari would rather fight and kill than let an axe threaten their sacred giant trees. Indeed, that fact had been the foundation of a great deal of Wilderlands history. That is unusual, I continued. I suppose being married to a Kasari lord might actually help her procure it.

  That’s what I understand, from the Mirrorkeeper at Lotanz, he assured. But he also said that she wanted the acquisition to be kept quiet. So, don’t tell anyone important, he urged, mockingly. Any ideas what she might want that much wood for?

  Plenty, I agreed. But none that Penny would want me to speculate about. She’s doing good work in Enultramar. I don’t want to pester her. Or mess up any business she has while she’s fighting the Nemovorti there, I reminded him.

  She’s probably just building a new palace, Gareth proposed. At first, I thought maybe she was . . . he trailed off.

  She was . . . what? I demanded.

  Oh, nothing, just an idea I talked with Forseti about, he admitted. But I doubt if she’s considering doing that – only I’m crazy enough to consider it.

  Consider what? I asked, insistently.

  Oh, I was curious about how our ancestors were able to conquer the air without giant hawks. I’ve been thinking about that sort of thing a lot, lately. It turns out that Forseti had a couple of interesting ideas, but most of them wouldn’t work, anymore. Not without . . . well, pretty much our entire ancient civilization. But there were a few that were technically possible. One of those took a lot of wood.

  You could build a flying machine out of wood? I asked, skeptically. That much wood? You do realize that our ancestors’ ships were made of metal, not wood?

  It was a theoretical discussion, he dismissed. Pure speculation. But intriguing. I doubt Pentandra followed the same line of reasoning. She’s smart, but she’s . . . well, not particularly imaginative, when it comes to physical thaumaturgy.

  Uh, I’ll keep that assessment to myself, I agreed, dryly. I’m not sure how she’d take it.

  I do appreciate your discretion, agreed Gareth. I have enough people mad at me in this world.

  Chapter Ten

  Heeth the Butler

  “The Faradines of Iron Hill love iron more than lodestones do.”
<
br />   Wilderlands Folk Saying

  From the Collection of Jannik the Rysh

  It only took Gareth a few days to convince Heeth to accept his promotion and make his way to Vanador through the Ways. Before he took the assignment, I insisted on an interview at Spellgarden and it proved helpful to us both. Heeth began at once to describe his approach and methods about all things arcane and obscure. Which, for Heeth, was all things.

  “I collect . . . things. Books, mostly, or at least most of the things I collect are listed in books. I pride myself on my education. But my passion is for the obscure. Those bits of information that elude the casual investigator,” Heeth assured me.”

  “Like what?” I prompted, curious.

  “What do you want to know? Gurvani arithmetic? The funeral customs of Cormeer? The various varieties of pigeons in eastern Merwyn? How the Unstarans turn worms into silk? The dietary habits of the Ice Sea pirates? And of course, I know every bloody thing there is to know about wine, ale and spirits.”

  “You know about tekka?” I asked.

  “Love the stuff,” he assured. “I’ve got a couple of small pieces – my stipend isn’t that good – all inert, but a nice collection.”

  “You know the Alka Alon?” I asked, knowing that would be an essential subject in his researches.

  “The ones who aren’t my neighbors, since someone stole the mountain betwixt my home and Sevendor? I’m passingly familiar with the culture and the five kindreds. Feel free to quiz me on the major epics. And I know some of the minor ones that might be considered … obscure.”

  “How about the Sea Folk?” I asked, curious.

  “I know a bit,” he admitted, with a rueful sigh. “But not as much as I’d like. Then, again, no one really knows about the Vundel. Even the seamagi. But I know that they’re damned impressive, dangerous and blissfully aloof from our affairs.”

  “There’s a bit more to it than that, but that’s a good summary of affairs. I know you take an interest in theurgy —”

  “Just a hobby,” he demurred. “It’s fascinating, but good texts are hard to come by. And that’s where much of my knowledge arises from. I read. A lot. About … a lot,” Heeth offered. “And I listen. Over the years, I’ve tried to learn just about everything I can about the obscure. I’m not a bad researcher.”

  “I give you credit for boldness, but is that approach to study particularly useful?” I asked. I liked Heeth, and he’d been a useful retainer in Sevendor and beyond. But this was a new side of him.

  “You’d be surprised,” he assured me. “Most of the stuff I know is pretty useless, on the surface. Until it isn’t. Then it can be vital. Or sometimes a bit of obscurity will hang around in my mind for years, and not mean anything helpful until I learn something else that makes it that way. It’s just the way my head works.”

  “So, what brings you to me?” I asked. “Gareth said you jumped at the chance to be here. Aren’t you happy in Sevendor?”

  “Blissfully,” he agreed. “My duties are light and permit a great deal of time in study. My stipend is generous. But . . . well, I’m getting bored. And I heard from Banamor that you were suddenly interested in Anghysbel, and then Gareth contacted me, so I thought I’d pay you a call.”

  “Anghysbel?” I asked, suddenly curious. “Why? What do you know about the place?”

  “Quite a lot, and not nearly enough, like most things,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I came across the name years ago, and it lodged in my mind. An old scroll from some monk on a journey of exploration, or something like that. But then,” he continued, “I came across it again – or, a description of a land matching it closely – in an old Merwyni almanac. It declared the land forbidden and lost to the knowledge of men. That was written three hundred years before the monk’s account,” he added.

  “Anything further?” I prompted. “I’m considering an expedition.”

  “Not in the almanac, but it led me to a Vorean treatise on volcanism – I was curious about volcanic crystal formation, at the time – and that led me to a volume on exotic plants and creatures, and an entire section in the book talked about the strange ‘land of fire beyond the snows’ . . . and the fanciful fauna living there. And some who are both at once: the Leshi. Legendary plant men. I’ve always wondered if they have flowering women,” he added, with a wink.

  “Really? You have this book?” I asked, eagerly.

  “Alas, no, it was in a temple library. But I think I can get you access to it,” he offered. Then he looked at me thoughtfully, tugging on his Imperial beard. “Your expedition intrigues me. According to that book, there are some very, very interesting creatures in that little land. And some horrors. Even in those learned times, they lacked terminology to even describe some of the beasts they found. Yet they seemed incredibly well-informed about some of them. It was an old text, and it didn’t have the imaginative language the Later Magocracy adopted, so I counted it as authoritative. Author unknown, sadly,” he added.

  “What intrigued you about these creatures?” I asked.

  “Are you jesting?” he snorted. “I already knew that obscenely hot and alchemically chaotic environments like that produce both biological and magical effects on the plants, animals and minerals around them. You have to be tough, to survive in that environment.

  “Only the descriptions of this place didn’t mention the magic, because it wasn’t there. It didn’t reference the jevolar, curiously enough, but it did speak of a lack of ‘interfering field effects,’ the way they did when they talked about magic but didn’t want to sound like they were talking about magic. Those creatures are not only tough,” he declared, “they’re tough without magic. That’s what’s fascinating about the place.”

  “It would have to be fairly exotic,” I agreed. “I have other reasons for going, but I look forward to seeing its colorful nature. Just seeing a flaming mountain will be intriguing enough. But you have proven one thing, Heeth, you know some obscure matters. And I am in dire need of a generalist who can pull together the diverse motes of knowledge floating in the air and make some sense of it.”

  “To what purpose, may I ask?” he inquired, cocking his head. “One just doesn’t get a hankering to leave his new realm and holiday on the slopes of a volcano to satisfy one’s curiosity.”

  “To many purposes,” I sighed, deciding that I could trust Heeth. “I need something from there – a few things from there, actually. They involve things like the Alka Alon, the prosecution of the war, the survival of humanity, and the future of magic in the world.”

  Heeth nodded, his eyes slightly wider. “You’re serious?” he realized.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” I said, with another sigh. “It’s all interconnected, of course, and the tale extends back to prehistory, some of it. But the upshot is that I must go to the Lost Land, it seems, and I must do it soon. This summer, actually, assuming we survive the coming war.”

  The wizard leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “And here I thought you were merely sulking at your new country estates during your exile, after a gory dragon attack on your home. It appears as if things were more complicated than I thought.”

  “The Sea Folk are involved,” I added. “I can explain it all – or as much as I understand – but only if you agree to commit yourself to the effort.”

  “Damn. Then this is some high-level wizard stuff,” he said, reverently. “Not just a thaumaturgical affectation.”

  “It’s not just a hobby, it is, indeed, rather important. And because of that, I need a man who knows a little bit about everything, and a lot about things most other people don’t know, and who can put it all together. And then explain it to me,” I added, though I thought that was a given.

  “And the fate of the world actually hangs on your success?” Heeth asked, skeptically . . . or perhaps fearfully. With a dash of excited eagerness.

  “I wish it didn’t, but yes, it probably does. I need all the help I can get to figure a way through it all to some product
ive solutions. Or we’re all dead, humanity is extinct, and then all the other creatures of this world will eventually die. So, I’m going to need a commitment.”

  “Well, I can’t promise anything, but I’m confident that if I fail, I’ll fail spectacularly,” Heeth proposed, boldly.

  I really couldn’t ask for any better than that. At least he was honest.

  Heeth relocated to Vanador after securing a replacement for his duties in Sevendor. He took lodgings in the Thaumaturge’s Quarter along with more books than anyone but a wizard should have and began working at once. With unrestrained enthusiasm. In a town full of magi devoted to their art, Heeth managed to quickly cultivate a reputation for an obsession that bordered on pathological.

  While all wizards tend to collect things along our professional journeys, from mementos to curiosities to vitally important materials, Heeth had, by far, the most varied collection of wizardly junk I’d ever seen. And he wasn’t even a practicing spellmonger. Most of us collect a few intriguing samples and specimens over the years, uncommon seashells or fossils or interesting-looking roots. Even warmagi manage to pick up a few oddities. But the sheer size and variety of curios he collected convinced me I had the right man for the job in hiring Heeth as my arcanist.

  Heeth was one of those wizards who would obsess about a subject for days, even weeks at a time. He let it haunt his every thought and consume his every breath. Considering Vanador’s libraries, both institutional and private, were abundant and varied, he had plenty to keep him occupied as the resident Arcanist of Vanador.

  His primary responsibility was, of course, assisting in engineering the spells we’d need when the thaumaturges figured out the method of action for the Natal Flare, and how to manipulate it into producing snowstone. His thaumaturgical background and interest in magical materials gave him a decided interest in the subject, and the challenge of dissecting the spell drove him beyond the scope of mere vocation. He wanted to know how the spell functioned. He worked regularly with the growing cenacle of magi busily doing just that.