Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy)

by Caleb Wachter

  Pryzius shook his head. “Cutting the hand from a thief?” he asked incredulously. “I would hope we have advanced beyond such primitive measures.”

  “It’s true,” I admitted, “that physical sanctions are barbaric. But a society could always employ a form of exile for those individuals who simply can’t fit in. And for a civilization such as ours, enacting such a policy wouldn’t be any great issue.”

  Slow, measured applause came from Arch Magos Rekir, which once again got my attention. “Well done,” he congratulated. “I believe we have solved the entire issue of judicial application in the span of a mere handful of minutes!” His smile was almost hypnotic, and I couldn’t help myself but return the expression.

  Pryzius clearly felt that this was far from over, but he remained silent in the wake of his father’s velvet-gloved end to the conversation.

  “So, young Jezran,” the Arch Magos said, leaning forward in his chair, “what has kept you so far from Veldyrian for these many months? It must have been something worthy of review,” he mused.

  I glanced between Rekir and Pryzius, considering my next move carefully. After a moment’s hesitation I went with my gut. “I would prefer if this was a private conversation between the High Magister and myself,” I said a bit stiffly without shifting my focus from Rekir, “but I will of course defer to your judgment, Arch Magos.”

  Rekir’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly before he replied, “Of course, Journeyman.” He turned to his son, “That will be all, Pryzius. I believe the citizens of Veldyrian would appreciate your continued vigilance on their behalf.”

  Pryzius’ face flushed again, but he stood quickly in response to his dismissal. “High Magister,” he bit out better than I could have managed, and turned on his heel to leave the room.

  I waited until he had left the study and closed the door before turning my attention back to Rekir, who interrupted me before I could begin.

  “That may not have been the most politic course of action, young Jezran,” he warned. “Pryzius will one day take his place in these hallowed chambers—and I can assure you that he has a very, very long memory.”

  I really didn’t know how to respond to such a forward statement from the Arch Magos, so I held my tongue until collecting my wits. “I didn’t mean to offend,” I stammered, “but the matter is…sensitive; I wanted to make sure that I had the advice of the High Magister before choosing a course of action.”

  The winning smile returned to Rekir’s face. “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he beamed. Without warning, or any visible summons, the door to his study swung open and a well-dressed servant came into the room bearing a familiar-looking bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. After serving the High Magister, the man gave me a glass of my own which was in the shape of some upside-down long-necked bird, and the aroma of its contents was almost overpowering.

  I suddenly felt like a fly that had willingly flown into the spider’s web with intentions that were no longer clear, but it was too late to back out. This guy was essentially the leader of the most powerful nation in the known world, and I was having a one-on-one sit-down with him, complete with drinks I would never have been able to afford.

  “You know of House Wiegraf’s claim on the northern territory which Magos Antolin applied for and received some months ago?” I began hesitantly. When the Arch Magos nodded, I continued, “I’m curious if that claim has been made official at this point.”

  Rekir’s smile returned, but even I could tell that it hid something. “Your claim to the area of,” he furrowed his brow slightly, “’Coldetz,’ was it?” I nodded and the Arch Magos continued. “Yes; I believe that your initial claim’s application was made simultaneously to both the mineralogical and archeological rights sections of the Imperial Expansion Council.” He turned to a stack of books and papers sitting on the table next to him and placed his wine glass down before gathering the top sheaf of papers.

  Arch Magos Rekir had clearly prepared for this subject to come up early in the conversation, and I couldn’t help but once again realize that I was in way over my head with this man.

  He thumbed through the documents inside the leather-spined papers until he reached somewhere in the middle and began to quote, “House Wiegraf, having satisfied the preliminary requirements set forth by the Expansion Council, is hereby granted total and absolute priority for any mineralogical assets located within the boundary indicated in section twelve…” he trailed off before finding another passage on the next page, “the area of the claim, expressed as the radius of a circle whose center is designated as the castle hereafter referred to as ‘Coldetz,’ shall extend to, but not beyond one standard wing in all geographic directions. Additionally, as is standard for a claim of this nature, the depth of the mineralogical claim has been determined to be two hundred meters, or the maximum provable depth to which the claimant can effectively retrieve assets, whichever is greater.”

  I nodded silently, knowing that it was all I could realistically hope for. Antolin had managed to grease enough palms—or whatever he had done prior to joining us at Coldetz—to secure total and complete mineral assets within the castle itself, and within ‘one standard wing,’ which I understood to be just a little over one hundred miles.

  “Thank you,” I said graciously, “and the only other question I have about the mineral rights has to do with assay of the mineral wealth located within the area. How is an assayer selected, and when will they be sent?”

  The Arch Magos shrugged slightly and set the sheaf of papers down in his lap. “I suppose it would be set in the queue for such claims, which is chronologically determined if there are no extenuating circumstances.” He cocked his head slightly and asked, “Are there such circumstances?”

  “I don’t think so,” I lied. “Just how long is it likely to take before our claim is processed?”

  Rekir smiled, his short-trimmed full white beard framing his jaw too perfectly. I had the sudden thought that he must manage the thing magically to keep it so perfect. “Veldyrian is expanding faster than ever,” he explained warmly, “and the number of such applications is higher than at any other point in this city’s history. It might be a year before your application is processed,” he said before adding, “without extenuating circumstances, of course.”

  I shook my head. “And the archeological claim is of similar language?” I asked, hoping to change the subject without looking too obvious.

  Rekir nodded. “Functionally, these forms are simply copies of each other,” he assured me. “The various departments change the headings and some of the specific terminology, but a nation of laws such as ours quickly learns to apply similar language in all such contracts, whether they apply to mineral rights or livestock ownership.”

  I grinned, knowing all-too-well how right he was. “Then I suppose that leaves only one issue for us to discuss,” I said with a long, deliberate pause.

  The Arch Magos cocked his head. “What is it, Journeyman?”

  I bit my lip and chewed for a moment before replying. I needed to sell this right, or it could backfire and take my head off. I leaned forward and clasped my hands between my knees. “There’s some force at work that is apparently determined to destroy the castle where our claim is located,” I began slowly. “We’ve successfully repelled their attacks to this point, but the cost has been high…” I looked up and met his eyes, and I couldn’t read him at all. I knew the only thing to do was continue if he didn’t bite, and just before I opened my mouth to continue he interrupted.

  “Your Master?” he asked with concern in his voice that I doubted was genuine. “You mean to say that Magos Antolin has fallen to these forces?”

  I nodded solemnly. “I believe so, yes,” I replied gravely and paused again, hanging my head until it rested on my clasped hands.

  I listened without looking up as the Arch Magos considered what I had said. I needed to listen very carefully to what he said next, and probably just as importantly, how he s
aid it.

  After a pregnant pause, the Arch Magos spoke. “If a Magos of the Empire has fallen victim to these forces,” he mused quietly, “then it is good you came directly to me with this information. If word were to spread of his defeat, it could cause turmoil at a time when such would serve no one but our enemies.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up as my mind raced. I hadn’t expected that particular response, so I lifted my head and looked at him quizzically. “Our enemies?” I asked, actually confused by who he meant. “I thought that the last Gods War had eliminated the remaining forces capable of stopping Imperial expansion.”

  Rekir’s finger was resting above his top lip, and his thumb was stroking his beard as he chuckled. “That is what we tell the populace, and even those High Wizards who never leave the confines of Veldyrian,” he admitted, “but the truth is that our enemies have become even more difficult to battle in the last few decades, especially after our last true victory those decades ago.”

  Now I was intrigued. “Why would that be kept secret from the people?” I blurted, uncertain how to proceed with this unexpected course in the conversation.

  Rekir smiled, but this time it was more genuine-looking than the previous ones which looked to have been practiced for a bank of cameras. “Our city was founded with a very specific goal in mind,” he said thoughtfully as he looked up and down the bookshelves lining the room, “and that goal requires that certain events occur in a timely, predictable fashion. Veldyrian’s subjects are a necessary component in achieving that goal, and their compliance…or rather, their participation, is required in order to advance the plan to its next stages.”

  The subject was taking a turn for the ominous, with talk about compliance and popular participation sounding like all-too-reasonable alternatives to words like ‘slavery.’

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand the connection,” I said after a moment’s consideration. “Why would keeping that information from them interfere with the greater needs of the Empire?”

  Rekir’s eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time I saw a glimpse of the man who had bent the entire city of Veldyrian to his will, and it was just as intimidating as I had dreaded it would be.

  “The people have their jobs to do,” he said coldly, “just as we have ours. But the time for coddling is over; they must fulfill their role, and if they cannot do so in the face of fear, then the source of that fear must be hidden from them so they can go about their labors.”

  I nodded slowly as I processed what he had just said. “Then our enemies haven’t been defeated, but have disappeared into hiding?”

  Rekir’s smile returned, but this time there was something malevolent behind it. “You understand better than you suggest,” he said in a tone that sent a chill down my spine. “And now we have a way to find them and put an end to their meddling once and for all.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “How exactly do we do that?”

  The Arch Magos waved his hand dismissively. “That is a revelation for later,” he said with finality and stood from his chair abruptly. “You will return here in two days’ time and we shall discuss our…partnership in this affair,” he said in a tone which brooked no argument.

  I clenched my jaw and stood from my chair. “Of course,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “The lift will return you to the lobby,” Rekir said, motioning to the door as he turned to his desk.

  “Thank you, High Magister,” I said with my best bow and turned to the door. It swung open freely with a slight touch, and I was halfway out of the room before the Arch Magos’ voice caused me to stop and turn around.

  “Whatever happened to Antolin’s remains?” he asked as if it were an afterthought. “He was not so well-known, but his body and effects would be best returned here to rest within the embrace of the city for which he gave his life.”

  I schooled my features and shook my head curtly. “I found nothing of him,” I lied. “There was an explosion which enveloped his body and when I searched for him afterward, I found nothing but ash.”

  Rekir shook his head sadly. “A great loss,” he offered in condolence, “but for you, perhaps a great opportunity as well. We shall discuss the future of House Wiegraf during our next meeting.” He waved his hand to dismiss me from the room, and I happily obliged.

  I walked to the lift in even, measured paces but my heart was pounding in my ears. I had just attempted the hardest bluff of my life, and even though I had no idea if it had actually worked, I had learned what I needed to know to make my next move.

  Arch Magos Rekir was directly connected to this whole mess, and I knew now that at the very least he wanted Antolin’s robes and staff for himself, which only answered half as many questions as it created. The biggest question among them: why?

  I was up to my ears in this mess and I was fairly certain the only way out was to survive an inevitable, bloody fight. And to win against a man like Arch Magos Rekir—even on his worst day—I would need powerful allies. And I had only one place to turn in search of those.

  Chapter XXIII: Queen’s Gambit

  When I stepped out of the elevator, I saw that Gaeld was gone but both Pi’Vari and Dancer were almost exactly where they were when I had left.

  Without a word I strode past them, and they took up positions behind me on either side. Our first stop was House Wiegraf’s estate, and I wanted to waste absolutely no time in gathering whatever resources we had. I wasn’t sure yet if I intended to accept Arch Magos Rekir’s invitation to return in two days, and the best way to make that decision was to make as many moves as possible in the interim.

  So we walked at a brisk pace a few blocks away from the Great Tower, its massive, seemingly impossible form blocking out the sun as we went, a dark reminder of the all-encompassing power of the Imperial High Wizards. House Wiegraf wasn’t of high enough standing to warrant permanent offices at the Great Tower, let alone private residences, but all of the districts immediately surrounding the Great Tower were reserved for the nearly one hundred houses which made up Veldyrian’s High Wizard houses.

  Three blocks away from the Great Tower we came to the familiar, brass-colored gate. House Wiegraf was near the bottom of the Veldyrian pecking order, but that was irrelevant when it came to the appointments afforded to it. The grounds took up an entire block, with high, cream-and-green marble walls broken only by the one gate, which was about twelve feet tall and at least half again as wide.

  As we approached, the guard manning the post immediately opened the gate for us. I recognized him and nodded curtly as we strode onto the grounds. I had forgotten the man’s name, and while it would certainly return to me before too long, I really didn’t have time to make small talk.

  The main house was magnificent, as far as I was concerned. It stood three stories tall with a dozen, evenly spaced, massive windows on each floor. The house was constructed of the same cream-and-green marble as the wall; in fact, every building on the grounds had been built of dry fitted stone from the same quarry, which had been transported here over five hundred miles if the groundskeeper was to be trusted.

  As I stood before the house, I was struck by the architectural similarities between this building and Sherwyn’s house—at least, prior to its collapse.

  I re-focused and we entered the main door, which had already been opened and were greeted by the house steward: a short, portly man named Chester.

  “Good afternoon, Lord,” he said with a low, sweeping bow. “We are pleased that you have returned to us. What are your commands?”

  “Chester, it’s good to see you,” I said a bit too stiffly as I unslung my shoulder bag and lowered it to the ground with one hand, “a good meal would be much appreciated, and I’d like you to arrange for a runner as quickly as possible.” My shoulder was sore from packing the heavy parcel around, and I was glad to finally be somewhere I could safely set it down, even for a moment.

  “Very good, Lord,” he replied and snapped his fingers, bringing a h
alf dozen servants scuttling forward into the lobby. “You are no doubt in need of a good night’s rest,” he said and wordlessly directed the men to take our bags. When one came to take my shoulder bag, I shook my head, which brought a confused look to the man’s face but he acquiesced and returned to his previous position near the wall.

  “Rest is the furthest thing from our minds,” I assured him, although from the corner of my eye I saw Pi’Vari’s posture shift to suggest a protest, which I interrupted by turning to him and continuing, “I need you to go to the main library and find out everything you can about those symbols we found in the chamber of domes. I need a summary in four hours,” I instructed and he nodded begrudgingly.

  “I should think any information on Sbeegl might also prove valuable,” he offered after almost turning to leave the foyer.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed, “good call, Pi’Vari.”

  I turned to Dancer as Pi’Vari made his way out of the room. “You, little man,” I said with a smirk, “should get your rest. I think your first test as House Wiegraf’s First Champion isn’t far off, and as soon as we leave these grounds I assume we’ll all find out just how badly I’ve upset Pryzius.”

  Dancer’s lips drew back into a wolfish sneer. “Dancer fight Gaeld?” he asked with a savage anticipation I had actually expected.

  I shook my head firmly. “No, I think there’s no way he comes at us directly,” I explained, “but he has friends all over the city, and I’m sure a few can come up with a quasi-valid reason to challenge House Wiegraf generally—or myself specifically.” I chuckled hollowly, “I didn’t exactly make many friends at the Wizard’s College,” I said as if to remind them of something they should already know, which as far as I knew, they actually did.

  Dancer’s lips closed over his lips slightly, but his expression was still pretty feral as he shrugged his shoulders. “Not fight Gaeld, not lose,” he said confidently. “Fight Gaeld…good dance.”