Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “We turn now to the Matter of the Forsaken,” he said, his tone brightening as he produced another leaf of notes. “Many of you are not aware, but there has long been lore that has referred to an ancient force called the Forsaken that has haunted our culture since before the Narasi Invasion. These shadowy figures were cloaked in mystery, until recently. Ancient orders dedicated to their . . . attention survive unto this day. But it took a revelation to Count Minalan at council with the Alka Alon to explain this mysterious and dangerous myth.

  “As many of you have also learned, the origins of humanity on Callidore are not divine; we came here in a great sky-ship so vast as to be unimaginable. That ship was known as the New Horizon, and it founded the human colony on Perwyn, among other places. For more than a century the New Horizon slowly delivered human colonists onto this world.

  “But then some crisis forced or persuaded our ancestors, soon after the first Archmage rose to power, to abandon the last tithe of colonists and the entire ship, itself. Its location is unknown, perhaps unknowable. But the records and the lore suggest that there are things of great power on that ship. And perhaps as many as twenty-five thousand of our ancestors frozen in time.

  “Did our ancestors know about the coming doom?” he asked, rhetorically. “Perhaps. We know that the Alka Alon know no way to prevent it; we assume the Vundel, commonly known as the Sea Folk, cannot prevent it. But both races were impressed and intrigued by our ancestors’ nonmagical expertise. They reclaimed these lands from wasteland, after all, when the Alka Alon could not.

  “They crossed the Void without magic. They constructed great sky-ships and sea-ships and had resources we can scarcely imagine. While we trip over the remnants of their great civilization, we can assume that much of it is preserved aboard the New Horizon, as well as the people who understand it. If they have some means, or at least some understanding about the eventual death of Callidore, then perhaps they also have a way to stop it.

  “But we don’t know,” he said, his voice growing dark. “We don’t know because we were stripped of that resource, and that knowledge, when the Forsaken were abandoned. Thankfully, among the records that were preserved was the assurance that there was, indeed, a means of recalling the New Horizon at some future point. I would say the time to do so is approaching.

  “Lastly, we have the Matter of the Vundel,” he said, flipping over his notes. “The Sea Folk. The true masters of Callidore. While the dry lands are merely an afterthought in their minds, from what we understand, and all of these other matters are trivial to them, there is no doubt that they understand the approaching doom better than any, and find themselves, despite their great power, unable to prevent it. But they also know that a similar catastrophe was prevented in the past by their own ancestors, uncounted years ago.

  “Therefore, the key to the salvation of our descendants is likely bound up with the Vundel,” he explained. “Understanding their strange race and establishing meaningful communication with them would certainly facilitate any attempt to rescue our world; but, until recently, we had little to offer them, save perhaps amusement.

  “Now we have snowstone,” he continued, and I winced. I had taken great pains to keep the Vundel’s hunger for snowstone a secret, but now was the time for sharing that secret, if we were to hope to prevail. Heeth sought out my eye in the crowd and I nodded in permission.

  “The Vundel have a great desire for the stuff, more than we do, and count it unique in their experience. We aren’t terribly certain what they do with it, but they love it and they want more . . . and we have a finite supply. It is theorized that if we can repeat the magical event that created the stone in the first place, we will have a bargaining chip with which to catch the attention of the Sea Folk and perhaps enlist their aid in challenging the inevitable doom.

  “For, unlike the Alka Alon, the Vundel have no place they can go, no means of escape. They will die here with their world and with us. Therefore, they have an interest in working with us, if we can prevent the doom, and we have something that they desire, snowstone. If we can somehow use these two facts to persuade them to take us seriously, then perhaps we have a chance to stop this catastrophe.

  “Those are the Five Matters of Callidore, as I have seen them,” he concluded. “There might be more, but these are the five most-pressing problems we face. In preparation for the upcoming Beryen Council with the Alka Alon, Count Minalan wished all of his most-trusted people to be properly informed on the scope and scale of those problems. Would you like to explain why, Your Excellency?” he asked, and gestured to the podium.

  “Yes,” I agreed, pulling myself to my feet, “and I will entertain questions. But, first, I’d like to thank Heeth for his intensive explorations and organization of these matters. I assure you,” I said with a chuckle as I got behind the podium, “that this was but the briefest of briefings on each of those subjects. Our arcanist has assembled a small library on each and is continuing to gather information to better our understanding.

  “The reason I wished for him to address you is that while I and a few others have discovered much of this over the last few years, it occurs to me that if I break my neck in a riding accident or blow myself up with a magical experiment, none of this would be acted upon. Therefore, I wish to inform as many intelligent, creative and trustworthy magi,” I said, emphasizing the word, “to help me carry the terrible burden of this knowledge. As closely as we work with the Alka Alon, we must be aware of the limitations of that alliance and the motivations of our allies, as well as our enemies. Only by being fully informed as begin our councils can we assure that humanity’s best interests are spoken for.”

  I gazed out over the audience and saw expressions ranging from the thoughtful to the angry. “Are there any questions?” I asked, knowing that there would be an avalanche of them . . . or I didn’t select the right people to attend. I picked Astyral, first.

  “Could you explain all of this ‘doom’ language?” he asked. “It’s a little confusing to some.”

  “From what we can determine,” Heeth said, with consideration, “due to naturally occurring circumstances that we do not currently understand, magic will slowly cease to exist in about three thousand years. That’s not just a threat to our profession, but a threat of extinction of all life on Callidore.”

  I took up the explanation from there. “A goodly portion of the plants and animals in our world use some variation of magic in their biology,” I said. “Losing magic would make them extinct, it is theorized. The cascade of crisis that would occur by eliminating even a tithe of them would soon affect everything else. That would eventually lead to wide-scale famine, starvation and extinction.

  “But that is not the immediate danger of losing magic,” I continued. “For the Sea Folk long-ago imprisoned a race of invaders known as the Formless within the darkest depths of the oceans, and they use a strong magical barrier to contain them, from what we’ve learned from the Alka Alon. When magic fails, so will those barriers. And once the Formless are loosed, they will ravage what remains of the Sea Folk, then all life on land. That is the immediate danger.”

  “Three thousand years doesn’t sound particularly ‘immediate’ to me,” Thinradel said, dryly. “I’m thinking I’ll have another engagement, that day.”

  I waited for the giggling to stop before I answered him. “I do understand that such a great age from now seems like a small concern, for us. How many human generations would have to live and die before that came to pass? But that doom affects our lives even now and will continue to for centuries to come. Being unaware of it would be unwise. Being dismissive of it would be a betrayal to our descendants.”

  “It may be a hundred human generations away,” Heeth added, “but that’s just a generation and a half for the Alka Alon, and a few months, relatively speaking, for the Vundel. With the former fleeing and the latter all but giving up in despair, if we want to solve this problem then we have to take the steps necessary to take an institutional ap
proach to the matter.”

  “What about the other race, the Met Sakinsa?” Pentandra asked, her brow furrowed. “Do the Moonriders have any wisdom in this?”

  “Have you met one to ask, my lady?” Heeth answered, gently. “I haven’t. Nor, to my knowledge, have many human beings. While they are known to the Alka Alon, they are more of a mystery than the Vundel, though the Alka Alon texts demonstrate a deep affection for the race. All we really know is that they are a plant-based species, they came here somehow in a moon, and legend says that somewhere far across the sea there is an entire island of theirs that is covered with them. But I wouldn’t know one of the Met Sakinsa from an apple tree,” he admitted. “Nor what power they might have. But I’d like to ask,” he chuckled.

  “Why are we even speaking to the Alka Alon, if they have misused us so poorly?” asked Terleman, frowning. “They’ve been marginal allies, save for the Tera Alon, and they are not truly committed to the same cause as we.”

  “Because we live here with them, for now, and will for thousands of years,” I answered. “We endured their diffidence for the last five centuries, and we suffered and descended into ignorance as a result. Provoking their enmity would be unwise, when we need help so badly. Engagement toward mutual, short-term goals may provide long-term benefits,” I proposed. “But I would counsel against letting on just how much we know and hope that they will inadvertently give us answers to questions that they don’t know we’re asking ourselves.” That seemed to mollify the new viscount of Spellgarden, but he did not seem happy with the answer.

  “Shouldn’t we inform the Crown and the Royal Court about all of this?” asked Master Cormoran, worriedly.

  “To what end?” I asked. “Considering one of the matters deals with the fate of the ruling house, I’m not certain that they could be trusted to act in humanity’s best interest. They have little traffic with the Alka Alon, even less with the Vundel, and the ancient history surrounding the Forsaken is a myth that could threaten their regime. I believe the magi must be the ones to take on this responsibility. No one else has the knowledge, the capability or the ambition to repair a problem so long in scope. No one else has the power to shape institutions that could seek to avoid catastrophe.”

  “Would it not make sense to seize the molopor for our own, and use it to escape this world?” Azar asked, gruffly. I could tell that the warmage who spoke fondly of his close relationship with death was disturbed by this talk of doom. “It might give us the same leverage that Korbal seeks over the Alka Alon. It would certainly back those arrogant bastards up!”

  “It could,” I conceded, quietly, after the room burst into murmurs as my colleagues considered the merits of such a plan. “And that may remain an option for us. Korbal’s armies are the weakest they’ve ever been, now. But there remain quite a few of them, and the closer we’d get to the Umbra the more powerful the defense would be. We are not yet strong enough to challenge him there or at Olum Seheri,” I admitted. “As much as I’d like that threat eliminated, we will have to cultivate our strengths, both martial and arcane, before we can assail the Dark Vale.”

  “I still don’t see any proof of this tale of doom,” commented Sandoval. “I trust your judgement, Min, but . . .”

  “We’ll get the evidence,” I promised him. “We’ll have to, to solve this problem. We do not even understand why magic will fail, or how. We will have to know both before we can solve the problem. It could take years,” I admitted, leaning on the lectern. “I might take centuries. It will undoubtedly be difficult. It might be impossible. But we must try,” I emphasized. “That’s what wizards do.”

  Taren rose and cleared his throat. The tall, lanky thaumaturge looked far older and more mature than when he’d arrived at Sevendor, years ago, but he was not the shadow of himself he’d been after his time at Greenflower. He’d put on some weight, his skin wasn’t as pallid, and he carried himself more confidently.

  “I agree,” he said, solemnly. “No one else has a chance of doing this. And it might be impossible. But our inquiries into the Snowstone Effect in an effort to repeat the spell have shown us at least this: the divine forces associated with humanity have the capability of doing the impossible. Snowstone . . . shouldn’t exist, in Nature,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s impossible.

  “Yet, there it is. The human gods did that, with magic’s aid. The gods that have walked this very city. I am not a religious man, I am a scholar of the science of magic. But thaumaturgy says that the divine energies that created snowstone could likewise alter conditions in such a way as to spare Callidore from the approaching doom. We need but understand it and find what way that the gods can help.”

  There was even more murmuring at that. A wizard relying on the divine was oxymoronic; men used magic because of the shortcomings of the divine, it was widely assumed. An alliance between wizards and the gods seemed even more fanciful than one with the Alka Alon.

  “That may well be arranged,” I said, clearing my throat. “As you know, the gods do walk the land; more, I’ve the acquaintance of a few. I cannot say more, but when the time comes, we may have the divine support we need. Maybe,” I cautioned.

  “Well, isn’t that a dandy reason to go to temple!” drawled Wenek, in the back row. “Begging Ishi to make your spells work, not just your pecker!” That inspired a gale of laughter that, thankfully, died quickly.

  “There’s a lot more to it than that,” I assured him, “but it is something that is still in development. We know the gods and their powers are manifest, and they can change things in our favor – even impossible things. The Snowstone. The Everfire. The Divine Stampede,” I pointed out. “But you cannot invoke the gods and demand that they perform. It’s a delicate discussion, fraught with . . . complications,” I said, thinking of Ishi’s demands. And her performance. “But at the proper time, I hope to be in a position to ask for the divine favors we need.”

  “It would help if we knew the nature of the peril,” Gareth said, loudly. “Specifically. Precisely,” he emphasized. “Right now, we have vague mutterings and half-forgotten legends and a couple of Alka Alon with guilty consciences. That’s not enough to hang a spell on. Hells, I don’t even know which way to approach this!”

  “You aren’t alone,” I assured him. “We’re all confused by this because we don’t have enough information. We are flailing about in ignorance, and we cannot proceed until we know what we need to know. That’s one of the reasons I’ve called this council.

  “We have questions that need to be answered. No one of us is able to learn the answers to all of them; but you are the smartest and wisest wizards and counsellors I know. If we divide our efforts and pursue the answers and then share the results, the frontiers of our understanding will grow. The hazy darkness we’re working within will get a little brighter, and we’ll be able to see more. But we have to work together, toward one purpose.”

  “If the fucking knights will let us!” grumbled Wenek. That produced bitter laughter and grumbling.

  “Perhaps a feudal aristocracy is not the best means of governing,” I chuckled, “but it is the one we have. Our best bet is to keep ourselves aloof from affairs of the kingdom, save where they concern us, and pursue this mission on our own terms. The knights don’t need to know,” I said, simplifying the answer. “Indeed, it would only confuse and concern them to no purpose. We must keep our silence, save within the magelands and among the most trusted of magi, else panic will undo all we seek to preserve. At least for now,” I cautioned.

  “I’d rather see us in charge,” Terleman said, loudly. It was as if he had cast a spark into dry kindling. In moments everyone in the room was arguing with each other about whether or not we should re-establish the Magocracy, take power away from Rard, disband the aristocracy, and all manner of wild ideas. This was the first time anyone had seriously advocated such a course, and I was surprised by the support Terleman’s proposal had.

  “We don’t want to be in charge,” assured Banam
or, from the Sevendori delegation. “Believe me, the knights and nobles are doing us a favor by taking responsibility for all that crap. That’s where the Magocracy went wrong: they got away from just doing magic and tried to run everything. Bloody waste of effort!”

  “We couldn’t be worse than the nobility,” Carmella said, loudly. “They can’t run a bloody tournament without assistance! Bunch of ignorant sword monkeys who think everyone exists just to make them look good. They need to be replaced with magelords!” It was unexpected for the head of the Hesian Order to be that political, but then Carmella had apparently enjoyed several arguments with Wilderlords and Gilmoran knights recently that had soured her on the aristocracy.

  That caused a renewed stir of discussion, as just about everyone had an opinion about the Magocracy. I was looking for a way to respond, quickly, because I just knew some enthusiastic asshole was going to start saying to name me the Archmage, thus setting us all up for an inevitable conflict with the ruling regime and possibly generations of turmoil. That wouldn’t be productive.

  Thankfully, before I could interrupt, there was a clear, high-pitched note that sounded in the room, then another, and another. It was a clear, high tone, and everyone looked around to see whence it came. In seconds, everyone in the room was staring at Jannik, who had a tin pipe at his lips.

  “Thank you!” he said, when he had everyone’s attention. “I’m not a wizard. I’m a simple, humble minstrel,” he said, earning grins from around the room. “But when I’m not singing a jaunty tune or telling dirty jokes, I listen to people while they pay for my drinks. The real people, not the lords and ladies. Let me tell you what the real people think.

  “The Magocracy is a half-forgotten folk tale,” he explained. “One that is far overshadowed by the transformation that you wizard folk have managed. Whether or not you want to run things, the fact is that you run things better than the knights and lords, and the people know it. At least the people of the Magelaw. When the knights were slaughtered and the goblins were on the march, it was the magi who came to defend them. When the goblins were at bay and the people stood naked and alone, it was the magi who clothed and fed them.