The herder lowered himself as custom demanded, on his knees, eyes cast downward. He did not fully abase himself, for he was a freeman, and while not a noble, he was head of his family.
“Stand up,” the magician ordered.
Slightly confused, Xanothis rose, eyes still cast downward.
“Look at me.”
He looked up and found the face in the cowl regarding him closely. A beard as dark as the eyes framed a fair face, a fact that added to Xanothis’s discomfort, as only slaves wore beards. The magician smiled at this obvious confusion and walked around the herder, inspecting him.
The magician saw a man tall for a Tsurani, an inch or two taller than his own five feet eight. His skin was dark, like unclouded chocha or coffee. His eyes were black, and his hair was black as well, save where it was shot with white. The herder’s short green robe revealed the powerful build of a former soldier, a fact the magician gleaned from the man’s erect posture and several scars. Past fifty he looked, but still capable of the strenuous life of a herder. Though shorter, this man resembled Gardan of Crydee slightly.
“Your name?” asked the magician, as he came round to stand before the herder. Xanothis answered, his voice betraying his unease. The magician then startled him by asking, “Would you agree that this is a good place for a home, herdsman?”
Confused, Xanothis stammered, “If…if it…is your will, Great One.”
The magician snapped, “Ask not what I think! I ask your thoughts!”
Xanothis could barely hide his anger at his own shame. Great Ones were sacrosanct, and to be false with one was to do a dishonor. “Forgive me, Great One. It is said this spot is ill favored by the gods.”
“And who is it that says so?”
The sharpness in the magician’s voice caused the older man’s head to snap up as if he had been struck. His eyes hid little of his anger, but his voice remained calm as he said, “Those who live in the city, Great One, and others about the countryside.” The herdsman met the magician’s gaze and held it.
The corners of the magician’s eyes wrinkled in mirth, and his mouth turned up a little, but his voice still rang out. “But not you, herder?”
“I was fifteen years a soldier, Great One. I have found it often the case that the gods favor those who take care of their own welfare.”
The magician smiled at this, though it was not an entirely warm expression. “A man of self-reliance. Good. I am glad we are of a like mind, for I plan to build my estate here, as I have a taste for the view of the sea.”
A certain stiffness of posture in the herder’s stance at this remark caught the magician’s notice, and he said, “Have I your approval, Xanothis of Ontoset?”
Xanothis shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then said, “The Great One jests with me. My approval or disapproval is of no consequence, I am certain.”
“True, but you still avoid my question. Have I your approval?”
Xanothis’s shoulders sagged a little as he said, “I will have to move my herds, Great One. That is all. I mean no disrespect.”
“Tell me of this house, Xanothis, that stood here before this day.”
“It was the home of the Lord of the Almach, Great One. He backed the wrong cousin against Almecho when the office of Warlord was contested.” He shrugged. “I was once a Patrol Leader of that house. I was a prideful man, which limited my advancement as a soldier. My lord gave me permission to leave his service and marry, so I took over my wife’s father’s herds. Had I stayed a soldier, I would now be a slave, dead, or a grey warrior.” He glanced out toward the sea. “What more would you know, Great One?”
The magician said, “You may keep your herds upon this hill, Xanothis. The grazers keep the grass neat, and I have no liking for unkempt grounds. Just keep them away from the main house where I will be working, else I cook one for my supper now and again.”
Without another word, the magician pulled a device from within his robe and activated it. A strange hum was emitted for a moment; then the black-robed figure disappeared with a small popping sound. Xanothis stood quietly for a few minutes, then resumed his search of his lost animals.
Later that night, around a campfire, he told his family and the other herders of his meeting with the Great One. None doubted his word, for whatever his other faults might be, Xanothis was not one to expand upon the truth, but they were amazed. And they never quite got used to one other thing: over the following months while a new great house was being built, one or another of the herdsmen would occasionally catch sight of Xanothis engaged in conversation with a Great One, atop the hill while kula grazed below them.
—
NOW A NEW and strange house stood atop the hill. It was the source of both some speculation and a little envy. The speculation was about its owner, the strange Great One. The envy was over its design and construction, something of a revolution in Tsurani architecture. Gone was the traditional three-story, open-center building. In its place was a long, single-story building, with several smaller ones attached to it by covered walkways. It was a rambling affair, with many small gardens and waterways winding between the structures. Its construction was as much a sensation as its design, for it consisted mainly of stone, with fired brick tiles upon the roof. Some speculated that it offered cool protection during the heat of summer.
Two other facts added to the fascination evidenced over the house and its owner. First was the manner in which the project had been commissioned. The magician had first appeared in Ontoset one day, at the home of Tumacel, the richest moneylender in the city. He appropriated over thirty thousand imperials in funds and left the moneylender stricken over his loss of liquidity. This was Milamber’s method of dealing with the Tsurani passion for bureaucracy. Any merchant or tradesman commanded to render service to a Great One was forced to petition the imperial treasury for repayment. This resulted in slow delivery of ordered materials, less than enthusiastic service, and resentment. Milamber simply paid in advance and left it to the moneylender—who was better able to account for his losses than most other merchants, by nature of his bookkeeping—to recover from the treasury. The second fact was the style of decoration. Instead of the garishly bold wall paintings, the building was left mostly unpainted, except for an occasional landscape in muted, natural colors. Many fine young artists were employed on this project, and when it was done, the demand for their services was phenomenal. Within a month a new wave in Tsurani art was in progress.
Fifty slaves now worked the outlying fields, all free to come and go as they wished, dressed in the garb of their homeworld, Midkemia. All had been taken from the slave market one day, without payment, by the Great One.
Many travelers to Ontoset would make an afternoon of climbing the hills nearby to see the house. From a respectable distance, of course. The herder, Xanothis, was questioned many times about the strange Great One who lived in that house, but the former soldier said nothing, only smiling a great deal.
—
“THE BELIEF THAT the current great rift to Midkemia is controllable is only partially correct.” Milamber paused, allowing his scribe to finish copying the dictation. “It can be stated that rifts may be established without the release of destructive energies associated with their accidental creation, either through poorly effected magic spells or by the proximity of too many unstable magic devices.”
Milamber’s research into the special aspects of rift energies would be added to the Assembly’s archives when completed. Like other projects he had read of in the archives, research into rifts had shown what Milamber took to be a grievous flaw in most of his brother magicians’ work. In general, projects were not carried through to completion, showing a lack of thoroughness. Once the procedure to establish rifts safely had been developed, further research into their nature had been halted.
Continuing, he dictated: “What is lacking in the concept of control is the ability to select the terminus of contact, the ability to ‘target’ the rift. It has been shown
by the appearance of the ship carrying Fanatha on the shores of Crydee, on the world of Midkemia, that a certain affinity between a newly forming rift and an existing one is probable. However, as shown by further testing, this affinity is limited, such limits being as yet not fully understood. While there is increased probability of a second rift appearing within a regional proximity to the first, it is by no means a certainty.”
When the scribe was caught up, Milamber added, “Also, there is a question of why rifts show certain inconsistencies. Size appears relative to the energy employed in their formation, but other characteristics seem without pattern. Some rifts are single direction”—Milamber had lost several valuable devices discovering this fact—“while others allow movement in two directions. And then there are ‘bonded pairs,’ two single-direction rifts that appear simultaneously, both allowing one-way travel between origin and terminus. Though they may appear miles apart, they are related—”
Milamber’s narration was interrupted by the sound of the chimes announcing the arrival of someone from the Assembly. He dismissed his scribe and made his way to the pattern room. As he walked, he mused on the real reason for his submersion in research over the last two months. He was avoiding the decision he must soon make, whether or not to return to the Shinzawai estate for Katala.
Milamber knew there was a chance she had become the wife of another, for their separation had been nearly five years, and she would have no reason to think he’d ever be returning. But time and training had done nothing to dull his feelings toward her. As he reached the transporting room with its tiled pattern, he made his decision: tomorrow he would go to see her.
As he entered the room, he saw Hochopepa step off the pattern in the tile floor. “Ah,” said the plump magician, “there you are. Since it has been two weeks since I last saw you, I decided to pay a visit.”
“I am glad to see you. I have been deeply involved in study and could do with a short respite.”
They walked from the room into one of the several gardens nearby. Hochopepa said, “I have been meaning to ask you: what is the significance of the pattern you chose? I don’t recognize it.”
Milamber said, “It is a stylized recreation of a pattern I once saw in a fountain. Three dolphins.”
“Dolphins?”
Milamber explained about the Midkemian sea mammals, while they seated themselves upon cushions between a pair of dwarf fruit trees.
“Why the dolphins from that fountain?”
“I don’t know. A compulsion, perhaps. Also, when I underwent my final testing on the tower, I saw something that didn’t register for a month or two after.”
“What does one have to do with the other?”
“In the representation of the final challenge to the Stranger, do you remember a single brown-robed magician, who bent the rift to keep Kelewan from entering the Enemy’s universe?”
Hochopepa looked thoughtful. “I can’t say as I do, Milamber. But then the spell used to create that image affects each of us differently. If you compare visions with others, you’ll discover a great deal of variation. But at the time of the Stranger, we were all black robes. Who could this odd brown-robed magician be?”
Milamber said, “A man I have met, years ago.”
“Impossible. That scene took place centuries ago.”
Milamber smiled and said, “Nevertheless, I have met him. I made my pattern of three dolphins as something of a commemorative to our meeting.”
“How very strange. There has been some speculation on time travel, which would have to be the answer in this case, unless your barbaric mind played false with you upon the tower.” He said the last with a smile.
Milamber clapped his hands, and a servant arrived with a platter of refreshments. The servant, Netoha, at one time had been hadonra for the family that resided there previously. Milamber had found him while securing someone to plant the varieties of vegetation he wanted in his gardens. The man was bold enough to approach, something that singled him out from the common Tsurani. Unable to find the work he was trained for since the demise of his employer’s estate, Netoha had scratched out a meager living over the years. Milamber had taken him on as much out of sympathy as out of any real need. He had quickly made himself useful in a hundred ways the young magician had never dreamed of, and the relationship was mutually satisfactory.
Hochopepa took the offered sweets and drink. “I have come to tell you some news. There is to be an Imperial Festival in two months’ time, with games. Will you come?”
Milamber found his curiosity piqued. With a wave he dismissed Netoha. “And what makes this festival so special? I can’t remember having seen you so animated before.”
“This festival is being given by the Warlord in honor of his nephew, the Emperor. He has plans for a new major offensive the week before the games, and it is hoped he will announce the success of the campaign.” He lowered his voice. “It is no secret to those with access to court gossip he is under a great deal of pressure to justify his conduct of the war before the High Council. Rumor has it he has been forced to offer major concessions to the Blue Wheel Party to regain their support in the war.
“But what will make the games unusual is that the Light of Heaven will leave his Palace of Contemplation, breaking with ancient tradition. It would be a proper occasion for you to make some sort of entrance into court society.”
“I’m sorry, Hocho,” Milamber said, “I have little desire to attend any festivals. I have been to one earlier this month, in Ontoset, as part of my studies. The dances are boring, the food tends toward the awful, and the wine is as flat as the speeches. The games are of less interest still. If this is the court society you speak of, then I’ll be fine without it.”
“Milamber, there are many holes left in your education. Gaining the black robe did not mean instant mastery of our craft. There is quite a bit more involved in protecting the Empire than sitting about dreaming up new ways of tossing energy around, or creating economic chaos with the local moneylenders.” He took another sweet and returned to his chiding. “There are several reasons you must come with me to the festivities, Milamber. First, you are something of a celebrity to the nobles of the realm, for news of your wondrous house has spread from one corner of the Empire to the other, mostly by aid of those young bandits you paid so well to execute the delicate paintings you love so much. It is now considered the mark of some distinction to have the same sort of work done.
“And this place”—his hand inscribed an arc before them, mock wonder upon his face—“anyone who could be so clever to design such an edifice must surely be worthy of attention.” His mocking tone vanished as he added, “By the way, this entire bit of nonsense has not been diminished one whit by your mysterious isolation here in the hinterlands. If anything, it has added to your reputation.
“Now to more important reasons than social ones. As you no doubt know, there is growing concern that the news from the war is somehow being downplayed. In all these years there has been little gain, and some talk is going about that the Emperor may take a stand against the Warlord’s policies. If so…” He let the thought go unfinished.
Milamber was silent for a time. “Hocho, I think it is time that I told you something, and if you feel it’s sufficient to warrant my life, then you may return to the Assembly and bring charges.”
Hochopepa was raptly attentive, all quips and sharp remarks put aside.
“You who trained me did your work well, for I am filled with a need to do what is best for the Empire. I hold only a little feeling for the land of my birth anymore, and you will never know what that signifies. But in the process of making me what I am, you could never create the love of home within my being that I once felt for my own Crydee. What you have created is a man with a strong sense of duty, untempered by any love for that thing he feels duty toward.” Hochopepa remained silent as the impact of what Milamber had said penetrated, then he nodded as Milamber continued.
“I may be the greatest thre
at to the Empire since the Stranger invaded your skies, for if I become involved with its politics, I will be justice without mercy.
“I have known of the factions within the parties, the crossover of families from one party to another, and the consequences of those acts. Do you think because I sit atop my hill in the eastlands, I am unaware of the shifts and stirrings of the political animals in the capital? Of course not. If the Blue Wheel Party collapses and its members realign with the War Party or the Imperials, every street merchant in Ontoset is speculating on the news the next day in the marketplace. I know what is taking place as well as any other who is not directly involved. And in the months since I came to live here, I have come to one conclusion: the Empire is slowly killing itself.”
The older magician said nothing for a moment, then asked, “Have you wondered at all why our system is such that we are killing ourselves?”
Milamber stood and paced a little. “Of course. I am studying it, and have chosen to wait before I act. I need more time to understand the history you taught me so well. But I do have some speculations of sorts on what’s wrong, and they will give me a starting point.” He inclined his head, asking if he should go on. Hochopepa nodded that he should. “It seems to me there are several major problems here, problems I can only guess at in terms of impact upon the Empire.
“First”—he held up his index finger—“those in power are more concerned with their own grandeur than with the well-being of the Empire. And as they are those who appear to the casual eye to be the Empire, it is an easy thing not to notice.”
“What do you mean?” the older magician asked.
“When you think of the Empire, what comes to mind? A history of armies warring across the lands? Or the rise of the Assembly? Perhaps you think of a chronicle of rulers? Whatever it is, most likely the single most obvious truth is overlooked. The Empire is all those who live within its borders, from the nobles to the lowest servant, even the slaves who work the fields. It must be seen as a whole, not as being embodied by some small but visible part, such as the Warlord or the High Council. Do you understand that?”
Magician: Master Page 24
