High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  I was given a special tour of one hall by Lady Ithalia, who thought I might appreciate it. Inside were artifacts and such from the earthly Magocracy, gifts given the Master of the Hall in ages past. Most were amusing trinkets, to the Alka Alon, but they had a much different effect on me.

  “This is a model of Perwyn!” I said, startled, when I saw it. It was about six feet long and three wide, but I recognized the general shape and geography.

  “Yes, from its earliest days,” she agreed. “Before your great cities were built. Before your people’s rajira awakened.”

  “It seems so . . . small,” I said, looking at the dusty old thing.

  “It suited their purposes. Just over two hundred thousand square miles. They needed a base of operations for the task of seeding the mainland. Perwyn was ideally situated. A good mix of arable land and natural resources, situated to all human settlements.”

  “And then we sank it,” I pronounced. “Just like us. We just can’t have nice things. What is this?”

  “This was the cask the first of your gifts of trees arrived within,” she said, happily. “These are conifers, I believe.”

  “Trees. Of course. That would be the route to your kindred’s heart.” She smiled.

  “This was a gift from your gods,” she said, casually, opening a box. “To thank us for our help in evacuating Perwyn. Blood coral,” she said, reverently, displaying about a pound and a half of it. That got my attention.

  Blood coral is almost as mythical as irionite. Blood coral was fascinating stuff, thaumaturgically. If you placed a drop of blood on it, it would “recognize” you, which made it useful for all sorts of enchantments. Like knot coral and other sea-born magical components, only the Sea Folk traded in it, and the price was very high. “Antyr, your sea god, bore it here when the last of the peaks sunk beneath the waves.”

  “Antyr is an Imperial maritime god,” I corrected. “My ancestors were horse lords.”

  “I am still learning the variations of you cultures. All the same, it was a noble gift,” she nodded

  “So the gods have been here? Some of them?”

  “The gods,” she began, and then stopped. “That is a . . . complex subject.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less from them. But this gift implies that they have been here. Physically.”

  “The fact that they can manifest as independent beings is one of the hallmarks of your race.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the subject.”

  “Just some family lore,” she dismissed. “I heard you were speaking with Cardareth, last evening.”

  “That sorry little twerp? Yes. He offered to purchase my son.”

  Her eyes bulged. “He what?”

  “Minalyan. He offered to buy him from me for research purposes. He offered me a lot of gold.”

  “Magelord, I am . . . I am appalled! No ignorance of culture excuses such callousness! To invite a father to sell his child . . . that violates every rule of hospitality! He knows better!”

  “Calm down, I didn’t sell him. And to be frank, there are plenty of men in the world who would have taken up that bargain. But it begs the question of just how important Minalyan is. I know his birth was profound,” I began, “but he hasn’t shown any other signs of being remarkable. He’s a normal human baby.”

  “I know,” Ithalia said. “I have examined him. With his mother’s permission.”

  “You . . . what?”

  “Merely a cursory examination while you were absent, Magelord, I assure you. Akin to the scans you do when you are worried about something. You are correct. He is a normal humani boy in every way.”

  “Then why was Cardareth so interested in collecting him?”

  “Because that idiot’s fascination with snowstone has eclipsed what little decency he had. He is convinced that snowstone . . . well, he deeply desires learning its secrets,” she finished. “Particularly its origins. He feels it will prove some pet theories of his. But it is all the more galling to him that it was a humani discovery. He and his faction have little regard for your race.”

  “I got that impression. “

  “Did he mention his brother at all?” she asked, curiously.

  “Only in passing. Why?”

  “His whole family is touched with this fanaticism,” she said after a moment’s thought. “He, alone, was spared exile from civilized realms because of his brilliance . . . and the intercession of some distant family. If they were to learn of your recent fortunes, they might seize the opportunity to take what they wish by force. Cardareth alone is incapable of such maneuverings, but his faction and his family would not hesitate to act.”

  “They’ll have a fun time of it, then,” I chuckled. “Sevendor is no longer lightly guarded.”

  “It is by our standards,” she objected. “That is one thing that my fellow emissaries and I have petitioned the council over. We feel that Sevendor is too valuable to be left unguarded. We have asked for permission to augment your defenses against such misguided actions.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t refuse additional protection,” I said, as we left the Hall. “But I would want to be in control of those defenses.”

  “Of course, Magelord,” Ithalia agreed. “The desire is to protect you, not take control of the mountain. Indeed, your possession of it may have forestalled argument over its disposition among the members of the council. As a humani, you present a neutral force in their discussions.”

  “I’m not neutral,” I corrected. “I have my own agenda.”

  “As do they,” she said, simply.

  “I was told Lord Aeratas is the father of Lady Fallawen,” I said. She stopped walking abruptly.

  “That is true,” she acknowledged, warily.

  “As such, is there any influence she could use on my behalf?”

  “I doubt that any word from Fallawen would sway her father,” she said, after consideration. “The Lord of the Lake City is stubborn and proud, and set in his ways.”

  “Just a thought. You don’t have any influential relatives around here, do you?”

  “No, Magelord,” she assured me. “None of my kin have standing at this council.” I don’t know if it was shame, pride, or some secret motivation, but I could tell my questions had disturbed her. She made an excuse and departed soon thereafter.

  I can’t tell you much else about that day because it passed in a blurry haze of contentment. I saw wonders there, sculpture, plants, animals I’d never seen, and magic the purpose of which I had only the vaguest idea . The night was filled with feasting and song in the Hall of Hospitality. It was more casual than the previous day’s reception, and everyone was invited to participate with a tale or a song. I even goaded Pentandra to play a bit on the lute and got Dara to sing.

  Guri I tried to keep quiet. The voices of the Karshak are best for shouting, not singing.

  We were all summoned to council the next morning, where the decisions reached after two days’ internal discussions, reports, deliberations, and considerations were finally announced.

  The chamber was full of Alka Alon, many representatives of refuges and settlements near the Penumbra, some from further out. Nor were we the only human beings present. I spied both the tall, aggressively handsome Ranger captain, Arborn, and the envoy of the Valley People was standing nearby. He certainly looked like a Valley Folk man was supposed to: piercing gray eyes, rich, luxuriant hair, and arms the size of anvils. Between the two of them, I felt positively girly.

  But our attention was upon our host, Master Haruthel, who spoke for the council from the beginning. He first addressed his people in his own tongue, then spoke Narasi for our benefit.

  “It is the decision of this council,” Master Haruthel said, slowly, “that the threat in the East, the kulnuara known as Shereul, is a real and authentic danger to all of these lands. The Abomination wrought by the feral gurvani, and the armies that it, in turn, created threaten everyone in the realm. The shadow that has been unleashed by the gurvani is pote
nt. It may be beyond the power of the council to defeat, and its domain remains a threat to both Alka Alon and the other races.”

  Nice of them to agree on that, Pentandra told me, mind-to-mind.

  They had to agree that there was a threat before they could agree what to do about it, I noted. No one is immune from bureaucratic procedure.

  “It is therefore the decision of the council to take appropriate action. Since they cannot be protected, the refuges east of the Pearwoods will continue to be evacuated,” he continued. “Those displaced will be relocated to more secure strongholds, where possible. We will be hard pressed to find room for them all, but we cannot risk our folk falling prey to the dark priests of the Abomination.

  “Secondly, the nature and disposition of these dark lands shall be investigated. No direct action will be taken against it until it is more completely understood. For this we will designate our agents, and call upon the skills of our Kasari friends.” He nodded toward the ranger and then turned to me. “As much as our humani allies would appreciate a robust intervention,” he said, looking pointedly at me, “interference without understanding invites catastrophe, in this instance. We will proceed cautiously.”

  That wasn’t particularly good news, if the goblins decided to invade southern Gilmora this summer, but cautious interest was better than apathy, I consoled myself.

  “Thirdly, Master Minalan shall be allowed to retain his irionite sphere. He has demonstrated his responsibility with his powers, and has acted with wisdom and restraint. Further, he is named a Friend of the council, as our liaison with the new humani kingdom. His request for assistance will be met, and we will continue to exchange information and lend what assistance we can – in a limited way.”

  That was also lukewarm news. I knew the council was toying with the bad idea of trying to take my sphere away, and hearing that they would not make the attempt was gratifying. Being a Friend of the Council was nice, I supposed, but being the liaison between the kingdom and the council sounded like far too much work. Not that I had a choice in the matter, but the weight of the additional responsibility was not welcome, even if the sentiment was.

  “Fourth, in the pursuit of this course, the council has decided to allow a very limited use of transgenic magics to facilitate communication and the sharing of knowledge between our two peoples, and also to assist in the investigation of the region your folk call the Umbra.

  “In return, Master Minalan will agree to facilitate research into the nature and origin of snowstone.”

  Also an expected development. I was pretty curious myself, of course, but it did not seem that important to me, considering the goblins. The Alka Alon, apparently, had different priorities. But if they put a value on asking me questions about my wife’s labor and delivery, I wasn’t going to leave the coin on the table. Besides, there was a very high likelihood that we’d learn something useful out of it.

  “Fifth, we ask that the gurvan known as Gurkarl, who has some especial destiny according to the feral gurvani’s native prophecy, shall be brought before us for examination and discussion,” Master Haruthel said, his eyes fixing on mine again.

  “Sixth, in light of the chaos of the moment, a company shall be formed and expeditions shall be sent to investigate the whereabouts of Ameras, daughter of the Aronin of Angriel, and other missing Alka Alon. In this we may ask for humani aid, at need, and look to Magelord Minalan to facilitate that.

  “Lastly, all of the settlements and refuges in the realm shall be guarded and alert against the menace posed by the Abomination. The wandering companies shall be recalled, the nurseries and arbors shall be abandoned, for now, as a precaution against attack.

  “Thus has the council decided,” he intoned, and then went back to lecturing everyone else in Alka Alon.

  That went better than I expected, Pentandra admitted, while he droned on.

  It was nearly everything we wanted, I agreed. I still can’t help but think they were holding back.

  Of course they are. But we’ve established ourselves as a player at the table. That’s worth a lot right there. They’re taking us seriously.

  We’ll see.

  There was a lot more to it – the council had apparently ruled on dozens of cases. Suddenly I realized what it must feel like to be in my own court as a plaintiff or defendant. I wondered idly if they wee bored and if their little arses hurt. I didn’t understand a tithe of what was decided, as most of it had to do with the internal workings of the Tree Folk refuges, but there were a few names that caught my attention.

  “. . . Onranion to be released on his own responsibility after questioning by the council, and dispatched to Lesgaethael at the council’s behest for scholarship and assistance. Randior to be . . .”

  “That name,” I said, out loud.

  “What name?” Pentandra asked.

  “Onranion,” I said. “I know that name. And they said Lesgaethael.”

  “Who is Onranion?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

  “He’s the one who . . . who made my witchsphere,” I informed her.

  “I hate that name,” Pentandra remarked. “We’ve got to come up with something else.”

  “Regardless, he took three pieces of irionite and made it one . . . then laced it with powerful Alka Alon songspells.” I reached out and tapped Ithalia on the shoulder. “Is that . . . ?”

  “The same,” she nodded. “Master Onranion has been detailed to work with us at Lesgaethael. Is that a problem, Magelord?”

  “Not at all!” I smiled. “I like the old coot. He has a mischievous streak.”

  “That is what earned him an inquiry from the council,” she reminded me. “He is pleased with the appointment. He looks forward to studying snowstone, despite his poor grace among some of the council. Some wished to see him sanctioned, not rewarded.”

  “I know, but he’s a good fellow. He did that knowing it would get him into trouble.”

  “He was very grateful for your assistance, Magelord, and sought to demonstrate that with the gift. I trust you have not . . . have not used it often?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I guess I’m uneasy about using it without proper Alka Alon supervision. But I suppose he would qualify. If the council let me keep my sphere, then they can’t really complain if I use it.”

  “There are others who might object,” she said, uneasily.

  “The . . . what did he call them? The Enshadowed? I wouldn’t let their opinions decide whether or not I’d pursue a promising line of research, Ithalia. Especially if it could save Gilmora. Besides, I’ve got every other kind of fanatic out there after me already. A few more won’t hurt.”

  “Your boldness does you credit, Magelord,” she said, quietly.

  Master Haruthel gave one last public good-bye before closing the council, thanking the participants, praising his staff, and inviting the principals back in a year’s time to reconvene.

  Then we broke up. Pentandra said a lengthy good-bye to the ranger captain and my Alka Alon emissaries collected our party in short order – with the addition of Onranion.

  The old Alkan was eager to go – he had apparently been on house arrest, or something, after his inquiry began, and was visibly excited by the prospect of seeing the Snow That Never Melted in person. He greeted me warmly.

  “I knew they would let you keep it, after they met you,” he assured me. “They’re just worried about misuse, and you’re the most level-headed human I’ve ever met. And to think that was just the start of your journeys,” he chuckled, his bell-like laughter lifting my spirits. “I’m looking forward to getting into the mysteries you’ve created.”

  “I . . . hope you don’t mind working with Karshak,” I said, hesitantly. I know some Alka Alon had issues with their cousins.

  “No, no, I love the Karshak,” he assured. “Great craftsmen, in their way, and far underappreciated. I’d heard you were working with a stonesinger.”

  “Master Guri,” I said. He nodded.

  “A good choi
ce. A distinguished house,” he approved.

  “I think you’ll like Sevendor,” I smiled. “It has a lot of charm. And a lot of potential.”

  “Just the thing I am looking for.”

  * * *

  When we arrived atop Lesgaethael, midmorning, the sun was shining brightly on both the spire overhead and the mountain in the distance. You could see the Karshak scaffolding from here, now. The vegetable gardens of the Tal Alon spread out below us and melded into fields of ripening wheat, oats, potatoes and barley. The summer mowing was in full swing, requiring reluctant peasants to labor at the back-breaking work every hour of daylight, and the scent of fresh-cut grasses filled the air.

  “How lovely,” Onranion said, after a few moment’s consideration. “That’s a handsome tower,” he remarked, looking up at the spire of Lesgaethael. “I can feel the effects of the stone already!”

  “The whole tower is made from it,” explained Guri, with pride. “We used a series of static arches on the—”

  “Master Onranion,” Ithalia said, and triggered her transgenic enchantment. In moments she was standing in front of me as the Alkan equivalent of a beautiful young woman in a very close-fitting gown of green and brown. “Perhaps you should change. Our original form proves distracting to the natives. And the Tal at the foot of the mountain will not give you a moment of peace, in your true form.” To emphasize this, Ladies Varen and Fallawen both transformed into shapely young human-style women wearing tightly-fitted gowns in a forest motif.

  “Oh, yeah,” Dara snorted. “That won’t be distracting at all.”

  “It does keep your neck from hurting from looking up all the time,” I agreed.

  “Oh, of course!” the old sorcerer laughed. “Transgenics! How delightful! Go ahead, little one,” he said, nodding toward Ithalia. She sang a song, the Alkan equivalent of a mnemonic, and Master Onranion’s tiny body grew in size and changed in form as the notes formed. Soon he stood before us an older man, tall, with dark hair, graying ever-so-slightly at the temples in front of his ever-so-slightly pointed ears.